David Odle's Blog

The Institute by Stephen King

I rarely read anything by Stephen King that I don’t enjoy, though a few, and I mean a damned few, didn’t blow me away. But I’m telling you right now, The Institute was not one of them. I loved this book!

I’m always honored to review a book by The King, regardless of how unqualified I feel doing so. I mean seriously, like Stephen King gives a crap what I think. But in case my reviews help you in choosing your next book, I’ll share my two cents. I’ve learned to trust that Stephen King will lead me somewhere good and The Institute is no exception.

I rate it 21 out of a possible 25. (see My Book Reviews for rating explanation)

The premise: A secret organization kidnaps gifted children and imprisons them in a secluded building called The Institute buried deep in the forest of Northern Maine. The Institute exploits children with psychic abilities to perform covert government operations. The story begins with the kidnapping of Luke, a gifted child who also happens to be a genius. Luke survives the horrific rigors of the institute and builds a strong bond with a core group of friends while held in captivity. But the tides turn when the children, led by Luke against their captors, begin to discover what they’re truly capable of.

I was excited about The Institute’s release. I pre-ordered it and waited patiently for its arrival. I followed the reviews, and like most reviews for Stephen King’s books, some people loved it while others didn’t. There weren’t many “I hated it” reviews, but I read a few of the “this one was just okay” reviews. I get it, but at the same time, I felt like The King clawed back to his roots in this one. The story revolved around kids with powers and it maintained a level of suspense throughout. It dragged in a few places, but kept me engaged.

Here are my ratings on The Institute.

Craft (5) – Okay, I’m a huge King fan, so I rarely criticize his craft. Seriously, his ability amazes me. As a struggling writer, I envy his little touches that drive home a point, or establish a visual, or blossoms a character to life. Trust me, a wannabe writer could do a lot worse than reading Stephen King to learn the craft.

Pace (4) – If you’re a Stephen King fan, especially in the last twenty-years, you know it’s rare to see a small book from him. Typically, they’re huge novels that you have to settle into. I like it, but at the same time, I did find myself, on occasion, wishing The Institute was just a little shorter. That’s all I’ve got to say about that.

Characters (4) – Almost everyone who loves the Stephen King universe agrees that The King’s greatest writing strength is character development. Not only are his stories amazing, his ideas extraordinary, and his writing superb; his characters explode into real, living beings! Often, so real we feel like they’re actual people we might have known! The Institute lives up to that reputation, with one exception; there were a few characters, though essential to the story, I simply didn’t care about, yet he spent a lot of time developing those characters – I felt these areas offered ample opportunity for brevity.

Story (3) – I read a review recently that Stephen King has run out of ideas and now he’s regurgitating his old ideas into new stories. After I thought about it, I suppose I could see where someone might say that. I mean, back in the 70s, 80s, and 90s, everything he wrote was such a spectacular and unique idea that I think he spoiled us. Nowadays, if Stephen King writes a new book, you’ll see drifting images of books he’s written before; you’ll sense how one book is related to another book. Though I love his writing and The institute is a good story simply because The King wrote it; the concept of psychic children used for evil isn’t new (i.e. The Dark Tower series). When you pick up a new King book, you know the concept inside will likely be familiar. But it will still be good!

Ending (5) – The ending rocked! My main complaint about Stephen King is his endings – his endings often fall flat. I’ve said many times, he doesn’t “end” well. That’s not to say every book he’s written has a bad ending; some of them are phenomenal, but several of his endings were terrible, some even laughably terrible (i.e. Under the Dome). But rest easy, fellow reader, The Institute’s ending won’t let you down.

If you like a solid story, great characters, and something you can really sink your teeth into, then I think you’ll like The Institute.

My recommendation is to get this one!

Feel free to leave your thoughts. As always, I’d love to hear them. And I hope you enjoy The Institute!

Cabin at the end of the world by Paul Tremblay

Imagine that you’re vacationing with your family and suddenly, four creepy strangers carrying rudimentary weapons wander up to your remote cabin and tell you that the world will end unless you kill a member of your family.

What a concept! Paul Tremblay delivers with Cabin at the end of the World. Book reviews are a dime a dozen from wannabe writers, but damn it, this was a great book! So, here’s my review…

I rate it 24 out of a possible 25. (see My Book Reviews for rating explanation)

The premise: Four strangers invade a vacationing family at a remote cabin. A couple and their adopted daughter encounter a terrifying proposition – sacrifice a member of your family or the world will end. The family reacts as you would expect; they lock the doors, they try to escape, they seek ways to kill the intruders. The suspense builds into a living, breathing thing! The couple, Eric and Andrew, focus on protecting their daughter, Wen, while trying desperately to fend off these strangers. And to make things even more mystifying… the strangers appear to be normal people who do not want to be there. At first, the strangers’ claim of the looming apocalypse seems absurd, but as the story unfolds, we’re not so sure.

After reading Cabin at the end of the World, I transitioned from a “fan of Paul Tremblay” to a “HUGE fan of Paul Tremblay!” I just purchased Growing Things and I’m super-stoked about Survivor Song coming out in July of 2020 (assuming Coronavirus doesn’t derail things). I predict Survivor Song will explode as an apocalyptic masterpiece to spawn movies, shows, etc.

Okay, let’s get back to Cabin at the end of the World! (henceforth, just called Cabin)

I’d heard several complaints about Cabin before reading it:

·      The paragraphs were too long.

·      It was too slow.

·      It’s about a gay couple.

·      The ending was terrible.

But folks, I declare these critics incorrect! (hey, it’s my blog, I can declare whatever the hell I want)

I’ll address these items one by one.

·      Long paragraphs: Yes, there were some long paragraphs. Did there need to be? I don’t know, I didn’t write it. Long paragraphs didn’t take away from the story. I suppose a few could’ve been broken up, but I really didn’t care. Tremblay’s writing is compelling and precise, which made the reading fun.

·      Too slow: I felt the pace was perfect. The story kept moving forward and Tremblay sprinkled in the right amount of character development so I could connect and understand why different characters made the choices they did. To me, that’s everything.

·      It’s about a gay couple: No, actually, it’s not. It’s about a family in crisis. The characters happen to be gay. I totally get that this can be a touchy subject for some. Others could give a shit less. I suppose it can be touchy for me if the author’s intent is to promote their own personal agenda. But it wasn’t. Again, Tremblay told the story, the characters were who they are and it was totally believable. There was not a single moral hint or advocation either way. Just people. At the end of the day, just people is what we all are and I wish more people could accept that.

·      Terrible ending: Of all of the critiques, this is the one I heard most. I braced for it. I anticipated that I might not like it. I even put off reading it for a couple of months and finally had to admit that I was letting the hype get to me. So I read it. And loved it! I’m baffled that so many people didn’t like it. My opinion – it could not have ended any other way.

Here are my ratings on Cabin at the end of the World.

Craft (5) – Paul Tremblay has proven to be a master of the craft to the level of Stephen King, which is such a refreshing find. I covered much of the writing brilliance above, so I’ll keep it short here. I believe Tremblay is one of the best dialogue writers out there right now. There are dialogue scenes from Cabin and even from A Head Full Of Ghosts that remain clear in my mind to this day, like images from a dream that won’t fade.

Pace (5) – As I mentioned (and elaborated) above, I loved the pace.

Characters (4) – You’ve heard me say this before; the greatest character connection for me is when I fall in love with a character. It’s the most amazing experience. Tremblay’s characters are well-developed and I related to their fear, to their need to protect Wen (their adopted daughter), and to their desperation. I felt it. That said, I was not able to fall in love with them since there was no one to fall in love with.

Story (5) – I’ve elaborated a great deal about the story within this article, so you’ve concluded that I enjoyed it. It’s my kind of story. Without a doubt, Tremblay is a master storyteller. Seriously. For me, Paul Tremblay is at a level where if he writes a book, it’s going to be good, simply because he wrote it.

Ending (5) – See my note above about the ending. I won’t drone on here, but the ending was inevitable. Poignant, yes, but inevitable.

If you’re looking for a suspenseful story, well-told, and prompting thought, don’t miss Cabin at the end of the World. Nothing beats a suspense novel where you’re constantly on edge.

My recommendation is to get this one!

Feel free to leave your thoughts. As always, I’d love to hear them. And I hope you enjoy Cabin at the end of the World!

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FREE Excerpt: Chapter 1 from my new novel, Kate’s Lake.

Scheduled for release June 25th, 2020. Now available for pre-order here!

Chapter 1

I blame my wife for what happened.

That’s a bullshit thing to say, I know. I hate myself for even thinking it. But it’s true.

The day I left for Harry’s funeral, Amy leaned against the kitchen counter and glared at me with narrowed eyes and lips pursed to a thin, red line. Our daughters were still at school. Thank god for that little circumstance.

“You’re not even going to talk to me about it?” She drummed her fingers on the countertop.

“No.” I stood my ground. I’d made this decision. “I’m going.”

A bitter smile crossed her face. “That’s great. Real nice.” Her voice hitched. Difficult conversations weren’t easy for her.

She flipped a hand at me in a gesture that always made me feel wrong. Despite the facts or my reasons why, when she did that, I felt like a complete horse’s ass.

I scraped my tongue against the back of my teeth and said, “This is crap. How can you expect me to miss his funeral? It’s Harry.”

Her fists clenched, but the anger never touched her eyes. The crack in her armor. She’d known Harry. She knew what he’d meant to me. “I get that it’s Harry. But how long’s it been, Mick, since you spoke to him? Three years? Four?”

“Four,” I said. I couldn’t believe it’d been so long.

“Four years.” She strolled across the kitchen to a drawer at the far end of the counter, pulled out something small, and then marched right up to me. She slapped a coin onto the table and I flinched. “You didn’t have that four years ago, did you?”

My eyes crawled down to my sobriety coin gleaming silver on the table. Three years. She’d made her point. She’d stuck with me through the bad years.

“Look.” I locked onto her glare. “It’s two days. I probably won’t even talk to anyone. Hell, I don’t know anyone. I sure as hell ain’t planning to drink anything. Harry’s gone, sweetheart. It’ll just be me.”

Her eyes darted down and she shook her head. She didn’t trust me and I understood. But three years was a long time. Surely that meant something. The ghost of a life I’d left behind years ago whispered faintly in my ear like drifting images of nightmares struggling to stay alive.

I placed my hands gently on her shoulders. “His dad called and asked me to come. His dad, sweetie. And you know how we were, Harry and me.” “Oh yeah,” a deep chuckle. I loved it when she chuckled like that. “I know.”

“I don’t mean the partying. He was my best friend.” Those words echoed in my brain as they rolled off my tongue. My best friend. So many firsts we’d experienced together. The thought of him dead still didn’t resonate, like watching the news about a shooting death in a faraway city.

Amy reached up and delicately grasped my forearms. She gazed into my eyes and I anticipated her warm kiss. Instead, she pulled my hands off of her and twisted away. “Go then,” she said as she trudged out of the kitchen. She stopped in the archway and looked back at me. Her expression bore betrayal, one of relenting to the inevitable. “Don’t do anything stupid, Mick. Promise me that, please?”

“Of course.” She had no faith in me whatsoever. “What the hell am I gonna do out there, babe? Seriously?”

Her eyes found mine and a sad smile curled the corners of her mouth. “I know it’s Harry. I know you have to go. But I can’t go through it again, Mick. I won’t.”

I opened my mouth to say Give me a break, here; it’s been three years. But she was gone. I hurt for her, I really did. I understood. But at some point, we needed to move on. She needed to move on. The past was the past. We’d both changed so much in the last few years. We’d grown stronger. We were totally devoted to our daughters. We even went to church sometimes.

I had a fleeting urge to go after her right then. Give up on this whole notion of attending Harry’s funeral. I lived in Denver. Indiana sat halfway across the country. Harry would understand. Wouldn’t you, Harry?

Of course he would.

If he were standing right here and I said, hey man, I can’t risk things with Amy and the girls. He’d smile and say, I get it. Don’t risk a good thing, dipshit.

Darn right, he would. He knew me. He knew my demons. He knew what haunted me. He knew that I’d be dead now if it weren’t for him. No one else tried to save me when I needed it most.

I couldn’t skip his funeral. We’d been brothers. We’d been to war. I’d have to fix this thing with Amy when I got back. Two days from now, when I come strolling back through that front door, and she learns that there’d been nothing to worry about, it’ll all be good.

Amy and I were stronger than that. Because Harry made us stronger than that.

Harry Darnell. Semper Fi, brother.

***

My flight to Indianapolis departed that afternoon. The argument with Amy lingered with me the entire drive to the airport. I even re-enacted it in the car, talking aloud, and of course, in these solo conversations, my points were always profound and inarguable. By the time I parked the car and started my long stroll to the ticket counter with my bag slung over my shoulder, I felt better. I felt right.

During the flight, my thoughts shifted from Amy to Harry. My dead friend. My brother in the Corps. After everything, he was no more. His dad said he’d died in a car accident. Even sitting in that airplane, the reality hadn’t completely sunk in. People like Harry didn’t just up and die.

But of course, I knew that wasn’t true. I’d seen it happen too many times in a shit-hole country a million miles from here. A small flutter rippled my chest at the thought of him no longer existing in this world. I plugged my earbuds into my ears and let the music consume me.

It didn’t take long to find the rental car lot after we landed. Thank goodness, the Indianapolis Airport was nothing like Denver. I drove straight to Harry’s house from the airport. His dad mentioned on the phone that’s where everyone planned to gather today. I drummed my fingers nervously on the steering wheel as I followed my phone’s navigation. Would his mom recognize me? I’d met her twice and neither time for very long. I hoped it wouldn’t be too awkward.

I parked along the street and gazed at the house. Cars stuffed the driveway. Two little kids chased each other around in the yard. The sun drifted low and I wished it was dark. Not sure why, other than the night made it easier to be inconspicuous. I remembered this house. I’d stayed here with Harry when Amy and I separated. Good times, we’d had.

Going in there now didn’t excite me.

I considered driving to my motel first. Check in, relax a little, and call Amy to see if her mood had lightened.

Stop it. Suck it up and get in there.

I pursed my lips, opened the door, and got out.

***

The house smelled like flowers and food. People loitered throughout and I didn’t know any of them. I stopped and asked a younger guy if he knew where I might find Mrs. Darnell. He pointed me to the dining room. Mrs. Darnell recognized me, but speaking to her was a fiasco about as comfortable as swearing in church. My palms sweat, my heart thudded, and she told me that Harry never stopped talking about me.

She told me that Harry’s older sister, Arlene, was there somewhere and that I should find her. I smiled sympathetically, patted her hand, and told her I’d go find her right away.

I lied. I wanted out of that house.

Outside on the back patio, while standing with my hands shoved in my pockets and gazing at the sunset, I met a guy I didn’t recognize; old with deep lines in his face and thinning gray hair. He looked tired. He asked me if Harry had mentioned anything about what he’d been up to lately. I had no idea what up to meant, and I’m not sure I cared at the time.

Looking back, there were a lot of things I should’ve paid more attention to, this old man being one of them.

He asked if I’d spoken to Harry recently.

“No,” I said. We lingered in the back yard, off by ourselves, away from where Harry’s family and friends congregated on the back patio. “I haven’t talked to him in...” I shrugged, “a while.” Four years slipping by embarrassed me. Time gets away.

“Never mentioned anything about the lake or the Bottoms?” The old guy asked. I detected something in the way he asked it. Surprise. Confusion.

“Lake? Why would he mention a lake? You mean the reservoir?” I knew Harry liked to fish out there sometimes, I remembered him talking about it when we were in the Marine Corps. We talked about so many things then.

“No.” The old man frowned, as if about to say something else, then didn’t.

He nodded and then left with a quick goodbye. Apparently, he’d only stopped by to ask me that one, strange question. Weirdo. .....

I hung around uncomfortably for about another half hour before bailing out. I stopped at a little bar in Harry’s hometown called the Golden Nugget. We’d gone here many times back in the day. I toasted to my late, great friend with a Coca-Cola (years ago, it would have been a Jim Beam and Coke) and then headed to my motel out on highway 41, close to the interstate.

I checked in and dropped my bag on the end of the bed. Blessed quiet. Not a single person on earth to bug me. I fumbled through my bag and found my boarding pass for the next day. It felt good to touch it, to know it was there. My plane was scheduled to depart from Indianapolis at 5 PM, shortly after the funeral. No way I’d risk that.

I crawled into bed knowing that I should call Amy, but I had no idea what kind of mood she’d be in. Plus, I’d bet she was busy getting the girls to bed. I’d call her in the morning. The room’s air conditioner hummed and it soothed me to sleep.

The day had taken its toll. .....

***

I awoke late to the rattle of the doorknob wiggling back and forth. My eyes snapped open. Still nighttime. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 3:13 in the morning. What the shit? Goose bumps pebbled my arms. I propped myself up on one elbow and gawked at the door.

Darkness shrouded the room except for the light of an outside streetlamp fighting through the slats of the closed blinds. I pictured Harry’s corpse standing out there, drooping with sagging skin and wet clothes. God knows where that image came from.

I held my breath for fear that the lurid thing might hear me and that somehow me being awake would cause it to do something horrible. I laid there hoping it would go away.

“Mr. Smith?” A voice called.

The voice sounded familiar. As I swung my legs off the bed, a shiver raced over my skin. I wondered, why was his corpse soaking wet?

My phone lay on the nightstand next to me. I plucked it up and considered calling 911. The guy tried to break into my room for Christ’s sake.

I slipped over to the door and peeked through the eyehole. Holy shit. There stood that strange, old guy who I’d met briefly in Harry’s backyard. He had one hand shoved deep in his pocket while the other touched the doorknob. Jesus, didn’t he know how to knock?

I yelled, “Just a sec.” I must be crazy to even consider talking to this old coot. I pulled on a pair of jeans, squirmed into a T-shirt, and opened the door. The guy stood there and stared at me. His eyes were piercing, almost crystalline.

“Need to talk to ya,” he said.

“Why didn’t you knock?”

“Figured you was sleepin’,” he answered, as if any fool should have known that.

An awkward pause fell between us. Finally, I asked, “So what do you want?” If the guy so much as looked at me wrong, I’d drop him. I didn’t care how old he was.

“Told ya, I need to talk. Mind goin’ across the road and gettin’ some coffee?”

He’d asked about a lake earlier and if I knew what Harry was up to. This old man knew things. I rubbed a hand through my hair and glanced at the clock one more time. Was I seriously going to do this? I looked back at the old man clenching his jaw and shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. I shook my head and said, “Sure. Let me get my shoes on.”

Humidity hung heavy in the night air, not like the crisp evenings back home. It had an oily smell which I blamed on a gas station perched next to the motel. As we strolled across the deserted highway to a 24-hour Denny’s restaurant, I thought, I can’t believe I’m out here at 3 in the morning talking to this weirdo. Yet something gnawed at me, like knowing someone’s about to tell you a juicy secret, and the gnawing compelled me to talk to him, that I needed to talk to him.

Our shoes scraping asphalt disrupted the night’s stillness as we meandered across the road. Thank goodness for the streetlights.

In hindsight, this is where it all started.

Photo courtesy of Mick Haupt and Unsplash.com.

Is this the apocalypse?

Of course it isn’t. And please don’t misunderstand me; I’m not making light of this novel situation we find ourselves in. It’s scary. Damn scary. In the movies, people grow tough, they blossom into heroes, and humans catapult to mythical status.

However, the Coronavirus has revealed that in real life, we all get worked up on Facebook, blame the opposite political party, and panic-buy toilet paper.

We’re flooded with information overload. Some say COVID-19 is all bullshit manufactured by mainstream media. They proudly proclaim that they aren’t buying into the hysteria. They say things like, It’s some sort of government secret. China created the virus. This is no different than the flu. They’re making these numbers up. Some even claim that this is a conspiracy to unseat President Trump.

Then you’ve got the other side. The fear-mongers claiming we’re being lied to. President Trump didn’t do enough or did all the wrong things. They may say COVID-19 is killing far more than they’re letting on. Or that it’s not killing as many as they’re letting on. Some even claim the virus has been here for months and that thousands have already had it, but since no one knew about Coronavirus, people just chalked it up to a bad cold or bronchitis. Once again, the government must be lying to us!

Then you’ve got your religious fanatics claiming that this is it - the end of the world. This is where it all starts. Next comes natural disasters, wars, earthquakes, fire and brimstone. Yikes!

And it goes on and on. Some claim it’s a 1% mortality rate. Others claim 3%. It spreads easily. It doesn’t spread easily. Schools closing. Churches closing. Businesses Closing. Stock market crashing, lay-offs, deaths –

My God! Where does it end? How fast is it really spreading? What should I do?

Let me give you some advice…

 

Calm down and take a breath.

I’m just like everyone else; trying to figure it out. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know how long it’ll last. I don’t know who’ll get the virus and who won’t. But there are a few things I do know and I’ll offer them here. You’re more than welcomed to ignore all of my thoughts as well. You won’t offend me.

I don’t want to fall into the hysteria, but nor do I want to get the virus. I also don’t want to be naïve and act like nothing is happening, thus risking a lack of preparation and social responsibility.

In Marine Corps boot camp our motto was: expect nothing but be ready for anything.

That’s the mentality I’ve chosen to adopt for dealing with COVID-19. I don’t want to contract the virus, but I might. I need to know what to do. I’ll eventually know people who have it. I need to know what to do. There may be shortages of food. Or supplies (case in point, toilet paper). I need to know what to do. Schools and businesses may be closed for a while. I need to know what to do. The economy may get worse, or at the very least, not improve for a while.

I need to know what to do.

 

Do you know what the single biggest thing is that makes this all so scary? THE UNKNOWN.

People (me included) are terrified of what they don’t know. The unknown is an abyss, a black hole into which, if we fall, we may never climb back out. The unknown has been the most common vessel of fear since the human race sprang into existence.

So, my advice – eliminate the unknown as much as possible. Be informed. If you’re informed, you’ll make better decisions. If you’re informed, you’re empowered. You can avoid the chaos. You can fear the things that should be feared and ignore the hysteria. And, most importantly, above all other things, if you’re informed, you can actually contribute to helping other people and making things better for your fellow humans versus contributing to the problem of ignorance.

 

How do you become informed?

First off, stop getting your information from links and posts on Facebook (or whatever brand of social media you prefer). It’s all bullshit. Seriously, just shut it off. If you can’t, then at least do a little self-research before blindly believing what people post out there. For instance, if you’re receiving information from someone who constantly blames President Trump, or someone who claims liberals are the impetus behind the COVID-19 situation and that the liberal media is purposefully trying to corrupt us, then I highly recommend blocking whoever that is. You don’t need it. I’m not defending those statements or saying they’re not true, but how does reading posts like that help you? How does it help your neighbor? How is the person who’s posting that crap helping anyone except to spread their own hysteria?

COVID-19 is real and no matter how it got here or who is president, you need to know how to deal with it. If I get this virus, I need to know what to do. God-forbid, my parents get it, I need to know what to do. Hate-filled posts on Facebook don’t help me at all.

Regardless of whether you think this is just some silly scare tactic or if you’re absolutely terrified, it’s real. People are getting sick. People are losing jobs. Entire industries are shutting down. Your fellow humans are suffering not only from the virus, but many are drowning in the wake of its economic devastation.

Be informed.

The below data sources are not the only sources, but they’re updated regularly and are not emotionally invested in the outcome:

 

This site is the aggregated global infection and death rate (broken out by country). This information is updated daily and available for you to leverage:

https://www.who.int/emergencies/diseases/novel-coronavirus-2019/situation-reports

 

This site is the CDC’s information for what to do if you think you might have Coronavirus:

https://www.cdc.gov/coronavirus/2019-ncov/if-you-are-sick/index.html

 

Here is an article that focuses on the potential short-term and long-term impacts of COVID-19:

https://www.technologyreview.com/s/615370/coronavirus-pandemic-social-distancing-18-months/?utm_medium=tr_social&utm_source=instagram&utm_campaign=site_visitor.unpaid.engagement&utm_content=instagrampost

 

For some money/market discussion items (this post actually is older):

https://www.thestreet.com/jim-cramer/15-years-cramers-mad-money-recap-march-6

 

A recent post I read comparing COVID-19 to the Flu was informative:

https://www.msn.com/en-us/health/medical/coronavirus-allergies-or-flu-heres-the-difference-between-covid-19-and-other-illnesses/ar-BB11sFtW?li=BBnb7Kz

 

 

I won’t inundate you with more links, but the ones above will give you a jump on understanding what’s really happening and becoming a more informed citizen. I can’t stress this enough. Educate yourself, question everything, and be informed!

Avoid being the person standing in line at the grocery store with 5 packs of toilet paper in your cart while your fellow humans do without; because for some absurd reason, you believe if you don’t buy all you can get now, then later, you won’t have enough. Hoarding mentality.

Avoid being the person who panic-buys 5 gallons of milk even though you can’t drink that much milk before it goes bad, thus leaving your fellow humans without it.

Avoid being the person who does nothing to help their fellow humans, yet points their finger as if they somehow possess some spiritual or academic superiority. Basically, an excuse to do nothing.

Unfortunately, we’ll always have these people to deal with. There’ll always be people governed by fear. Just please, try not to be one of them. They’re not helping.

 

Last, there is nothing more comforting in times like this than a voice of hope and reason; those people committed to leading us through uncertainty and providing whatever they can to help us remain calm and bring us together, even if it’s virtually.

I’ve recommended this site before, but it’s worth repeating. Life Design Center founder, Mike Herzog, provides regular posts to help in so many aspects of our lives. His most recent post deals specifically with the issue at hand. You can do far worse than catching Mike’s most recent video:

https://www.lifedesigncenter.com/blog/HealthyIntentions

  

We’ll get through COVID-19. We’ve gotten through far worse. We don’t know the fallout or how long things will last, so unknowns will always be there. But, like so many things, the more you know, the less scary things get and the better decisions you can make. And ultimately, the better decisions we all make, the better off we all are.

Until next time, folks. Be safe!

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Top 10 Stephen King books for beginners

I must be out of my mind.

Out of more than 50 novels by arguably the best-selling writer in modern history, I’m going to whittle it down to just 10?

Arguments will ensue.

Why’s that book on the list and not this other book?

Meh… this is a stupid list. None of my favorites are on here.

Seriously, you put that book on this list? What a dumbass.

Do us all a favor and don’t create any more lists!

Here’s the thing (and the beauty) of reading. It’s all subjective. I participate in a Facebook Group called Books of Horror (love that group) and people are always asking what Stephen King book they should start with, or which one people think is better, or what others thought of a particular Stephen King book. You see, when it comes to fiction, particularly dark fiction, Stephen King is the de facto standard by which all other writers and stories are compared. There’s just no getting around it.

I hear it all the time… I don’t like Stephen King, or Stephen King stories are too weird for me, Stephen King stories don’t make any sense, or my personal favorite, I don’t get the hype; Stephen King is not a good writer. Every time I hear that one, I just shake my head and recall the greatest advice I was ever given as a writer:

Avoid advice from anyone who says Stephen King is not a good writer.

It’s true. Regardless of whether you like his stories, his style or his politics, to debate his writing mechanics is futile and typically marred in ignorance. There is no refuting it; his grasp of the English language is impeccable and his ability to wield words as a painter wields a brush is unparalleled.

Stephen King ignited my love for reading. I’ll bet many of you can releate. He’s been my literary hero (as my previous agent, Kirsten Neuhaus put it) since I was thirteen-years-old. He inspired my love for writing and, for years, I endeavored to sound just like him (and fell dreadfully short). I often google “Stephen King Interviews” and watch him discuss writing with interviewers or lecture as a guest speaker. I simply can’t get enough of this master of the craft.

His stories changed the face of fiction, he put the horror genre on the map, and his tales transcend time. He sparks childhood memories so vivid we’re absorbed into that universe and he creates characters so real we often cry when we lose them.

Thank you, Stephen King. Thank you for sparking my love for reading.

 

***

 

Producing this list spawned anxiety. I pondered it for days and sometimes shocked myself when I’d remember a book that I’d totally forgotten about and I’m like, shit, how could I have forgotten Firestarter?

But, I have as much right as anyone to state what my top 10 are, and so with that, here it is… my top 10 Stephen King books. If you are considering reading Stephen King for the first time, you can’t go wrong with any these books.

 

10: Firestarter – about a little girl who possesses the pyrokinetic ability to ignite fires, this story stuck with me as one of the most fast-paced and high-octane books that King wrote. I read it quickly and though it’s been a few years, I can still see Charlie when she unleashes hell!

9: The Shining – about a haunted hotel and a young boy with psychic powers, this story is considered one of King’s classics. Published in the 1970’s, the book was followed a few years later with the release of the very famous movie with Jack Nicholson. I can assure you the movie and the book are quite different. Many avid King fans contend the movie was a failure because it strayed so far from the book and that King himself didn’t like it. Me personally, I liked both the novel and the Kubrick film version.

8: Bag of Bones – about a writer haunted by the ghost of his dead wife, this story may or may not be well received on this list. When discussing classic King, Bag of Bones doesn’t typically come up, however, I absolutely loved this story because of the way it’s told. King’s writing talent shines full force on this one and it actually inspired my novel, Kate’s Lake!

7: 11/22/63 – about a man who travels back in time and prevents the Kennedy assassination, this story is humongous. The details are spot on and, as King does so well, he plops you right into the late ‘50s and early ‘60s. Moreover, the novel itself is so intricate and unique. I’ve always contended that King’s spin on time travel is the most original and this story is no exception. But be warned, 95% of the story takes place prior to the assassination attempt – it’s not a story about what life would be like if Kennedy were not assassinated.

6: Cujo – about a massive dog that contracts rabies and goes on a killing spree, this book is definitely a classic! Not only that, this is the book that I cut my Stephen King teeth on – my first King novel. You can’t go wrong with this one. Written during King’s prime, Cujo contains all of the elements of horror brought to you in King’s amazing style.

5: Pet Sematary – about an old burial ground where dead things come back to life, but their return is worse than death. Sometimes, dead is better. This story is truly disturbing. I’ve stated before and I stand behind it; this is the scariest book Stephen King ever wrote. Portions of it still linger with me and it’s been over 20 years since I read it!

4: It – about a creature that lurks below the city and preys upon children, this story is an absolute classic. Fans of Stephen King will often cite this book as their favorite. Not only is it a terrific story, the characters are so damned real that I still miss some of them to this day. Written from the perspective of two timelines (the characters as children and then as adults), everything coalesces in the end. You’ll love it!

 

*The top 3 in my list are the ones I’ve read twice. I never read books twice… except for these. These stories are a part of me.

3: Christine – about a haunted 1958 Plymouth Fury, this story will make you feel like you’re in high school again. Everything about it works and the characters blossom. I fell in love with Leigh and, during my first read when I was in Junior High (8th grade), I’d scramble every day to get back to her. My favorite stories are the ones where I fall in love with the characters and Christine was no exception. My biggest disappointment; the movie. Damn, what a let-down… as most of them are.

2: The Stand – about a killer plague that wipes about 99% of humanity, this story is considered by many to be King’s greatest work. It’s classic King in the most classic way. I read the book the first time while in the military and then again just a few years ago. Both times, the story swallowed me and I existed in the post-apocalyptic world where every time I sneezed, it scared the shit out of me!

1: Salem’s Lot – about vampires invading a small New England town, I believe this is the greatest book Stephen King ever wrote. Every Stephen King fan will agree that Salem’s Lot is a classic and that it belongs on this list. Not everyone will agree that it should be number one, but that’s okay. We don’t have to agree on everything. What makes Salem’s Lot my top King novel is simply the writing. So pure and efficient. I loved everything about the book and when the movie came out in the 70s, all of us in grade-school chatted endlessly about the creepy vampire floating outside the window, scratching the glass to be let in.

 

There you have it. My top 10.

I debated on so many books and even considered widening the selection to be my top 15. Picking 10 was just too damned hard. Books like: Different Seasons, Desperation, The Dead Zone, Skeleton Crew (I mean, c’mon, The Mist) just to name a few, but honestly, the one I waffled on most was The Dark Tower series. I loved that series and I equally loved all of the tangential novels that went along with it (Hearts in Atlantis, From a Buick 8, Insomnia, etc.), but I didn’t feel like it claimed a spot on the top 10 books for Stephen King beginners. It really deserves a spot all its own.

I do hope you enjoy these books. You won’t regret reading any of them and quite likely, you’ll walk away from each one feeling as if a little part of you is now part of King’s universe. So many writers credit King as their inspiration. Paul Tremblay, Brian Keene, and even Alma Katsu has a blurb on her book cover.

Don’t underestimate the power of the King, my friends. When he writes a story, it’s pure magic.

Take care, reader, and happy reading. Until next time.

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Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens

It finally happened.

You may not believe it. I mean seriously, I read a lot of books, and you may be thinking that this can’t be first time. Where the Crawdads Sing cannot be first perfect score since I started this book review blog.

Well, by God, not only is this the first perfect score, but if I had a way to rate it higher, I would. And, it’s not even horror, paranormal, or science fiction! I’ll explain why and when I’m finished, I think you’ll understand.

I rate it 25 out of a possible 25. (see My Book Reviews for rating explanation)

The premise: A young girl is abandoned by her family in the marshlands of North Carolina during the 1950s. She survives on her own into adulthood and is labeled the “Marsh Girl”. She receives help from a few good folks, but most people sneer and judge her as white trash and even seek to make her life miserable. Despite the adversity she experiences, love endures even under the most extreme circumstances. But so does hate. When a prominent community member is found dead in the marsh, the Marsh Girl becomes the prime suspect.   

I commend Delia Owens for telling such a beautiful story. My hats off to her!

Now, let’s get into it!

I debated on posting a review of Where the Crawdads Sing for two reasons:

One - this book doesn’t need my help. It’s selling like crazy.

Two - it’s not horror, paranormal, or science fiction and I’ve purposefully avoided reviewing books outside of those genres because I’m afraid of disappointing my core audience.

But folks, I had to make an exception for Where the Crawdads Sing. You need to read this story. Not because it was on the New York Times Bestseller list, not because Delia Owens needs more money, or because it’s the “writerly” thing to do. You need to read it because you’re seriously missing a wonderful story if you don’t.

I’ll tell you right now that my favorite books are ones with characters I fall in love with. That’s not uncommon. Many people say the same thing; Oh, I loved the characters. Stephen King is great at creating life-like characters; it’s one of his writing strengths that most of us envy. But for me, it’s deeper than just well-written characters. For me, what separates a great story from a remarkable story is a female character that I fall in love with. That may sound pathetic and weird, so let me explain (remember, it’s only make-believe). Honestly, there is an element of truth to what I’m saying. Katniss Everdeen from The Hunger Games. Alicia from The Passage. Alice from Cell. Beverly from It. The list goes on and on. Don’t get me wrong, there’s many great female characters, but every once in a while, there is that rare one that I fall in love with.

Kya Clark from Where the Crawdads Sing is that kind of female character. I fell in love with her. And when you fall in love with a character, the experience of reading becomes magical.

Here are my thoughts and ratings on Where the Crawdads Sing.

Craft (5) – Synonyms for Delia Owens’s writing craft: Impeccable. Brilliant. Magic. She even gets away with swapping character POVs mid-text. Who can do that?

Pace (5) – At first, I didn’t know what I thought of the switching between the past and present. I’ve seen authors do this before and I’m not always wild about it. But as the story progressed, the context shift between Kya’s backstory and the murder investigation became natural and necessary. Perfectly executed.

Characters (5) – Delia Owens did such a spectacular job bringing Kya to life that she became real to me. By the time I was halfway through the book, I’d forgotten all about Delia Owens. I was reading Kya’s story. If someone had asked me who wrote the book, I’d probably have to glance at the cover. There are so many good writers that I love to read. But above almost all of us are those writers whose names are dwarfed by the life and presence of the characters they create. That, my friends, is where the magic happens.

Story (5) – As I’ve mentioned, Where the Crawdads Sing is not my typical review type of book. I write paranormal / horror, so I try to bring my readers those types of stories. I took a chance on this one. You have my word, this story is not romance (even I cannot get to that level), but it is drama and mystery. Above all else, my core audience is composed of readers. This one is for all of you.

Ending (5) – I’m not going to spend a lot of time here because I could easily (and inadvertently) spoil the ending. So, I’ll just say this: it ends well… you won’t be disappointed, but you may be heart-broken. 

If you’re looking for an amazing story where characters come to life, don’t miss Where the Crawdads Sing. Delia Owens has demonstrated with her debut novel that she is the real deal. I put her in the same talent pool as the King’s, Hemingway’s, and Dickens’s of the world. Such a rare treat! Bravo, Ms. Owens! And Thank you!

My recommendation is to get this one!

Feel free to leave your thoughts. As always, I’d love to hear them. And I hope you enjoy Where the Crawdads Sing!

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Chapter 1 from my debut novel, Markus.

Chapter 1

Phillip drove down the long lane to the Taylor County Nursing Home. As he parked and shut off his car, he gazed at a structure towering like a medieval castle above the trees. The building leaned toward him as if warning him to stay away.

Markus Blue was inside. The man he was here to meet.

His palms sweat as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. I’ve got nothing to be afraid of. Damn right, he didn’t. It was his job to be here. He muttered to himself, “Yep, let’s do this,” then stepped out and sauntered across the driveway. Gravel crunched under his shoes like brittle bones, and he wondered, not for the first time, what Markus Blue actually looked like. Old, he knew that. Going off the stories he’d heard, the man would be ten- foot-tall, and maybe wearing a cape with a big “S” on it.

He reached the sidewalk and continued his stride. His steps clicked on weathered concrete, and an earthy smell festered the air, like what freshly churned dirt might smell like. As he neared, he noticed a group of children seated on a massive porch that jutted from the side of the building. The youngsters focused on an elderly man with Sesame Street puppets perched on his hands, imitating Burt and Ernie. Behind them, a young woman sat in a chair, her eyes darting from child to child, watching them closely.

“Do you know what to do if a stranger comes up to you Burt?” The old man gestured with the Ernie puppet, forcing his voice a little higher, but unable to remove the scratchiness of aged vocal chords.

The old man glanced up at him, his gaze cold and piercing, with crystalline blue eyes that bestowed something dark, something powerful.

Markus.

Phillip’s pace slowed, and he kept his expression stoic. He swallowed dryly. This was supposed to be one of the most feared men in the world. A Sesame Street puppet show blew that image like finding Conan the Barbarian baking a fruit cake.

“Yes, Ernie... I know.” The old man shifted his gaze back to the children and raised the Burt puppet on the other hand. The children smiled. A little boy temporarily looked away and picked his nose. The young woman seated behind him reached down and tapped the boy’s hand in a quit-that gesture.

Phillip climbed the steps to the porch, making no effort to quiet his shoes clonking on the hollow wood. At the top, he stopped, then moved to a wooden rocking chair and plopped down, resting his hands on the chair arms. The sun cast its radiance beneath the cover of the enormous overhang and Phillip noticed a bright, orange patch of light on his feet. In a few more hours, long after he was finished talking with Markus and back on the road to Indianapolis to catch his plane home to Houston, the sun would be low enough to shine in his face while sitting in this chair.

He tapped his thumb lightly as he waited. He didn’t want to be here, and he thought to himself as he sat I’ve got better things to do. But the truth was, he didn’t. This was all he had to do. This was his job. Perhaps it was admitting he was afraid that he hated.

Within a few minutes, the puppet show ended, and the kiddos milled about; the young woman fought gallantly to organize the impatient bunch into something resembling a line.

“Quit pushing!” One boy whined.

A little girl wandered off toward a flower pot full of tulips, her eyes blazing with wonder. The young woman, slender with dark hair pulled back from her pretty face in a loose ponytail, somehow got all of them in a single file and marched them down the steps. She led the kids around the corner of the building and out of sight. Phillip hoped for one more glimpse of her.

“From the first-grade class at the elementary school, out by Grant.” The old man’s voice drifted from behind him.

Phillip swallowed hard, his pulse quickening, but kept his gaze in the direction that the children had gone, hearing their voices fade as they got farther away. He didn’t want Markus to know he was afraid, though he wasn’t so sure he was pulling it off.

“Christopher didn’t mention that you gave puppet shows,” he said and could sense Markus’s mouth curl into a smile. He shifted his gaze to the old man and confirmed that he was right.

“Yes... I’m giving puppet shows. They asked me to come down to the school, but I don’t like leaving the home here,” Markus remained seated in the porch-swing.

“Why?” Phillip stood, stretched, and walked to the edge of the patio.

Markus placed his puppets of Burt and Ernie into a small, leather bag. “As I’m sure you know, I was born here in Taylor County.” Phillip didn’t know but kept silent. “Daisy Howard, the caretaker here, asked if I’d like to do a little puppet show. I told her sure, as long as they come here. And so they did.”

Phillip shrugged, not sure if Markus answered his question, then turned to gaze across the open pastures that led to the horizon. No way would he stay in this creepy old place in the middle of nowhere. The chipped paint, topped with a roof that needed new shingles, only added to the feeling of isolation. He never understood why anyone would want to live in a place like this, not when you had the city where everything was close and convenient. But there were plenty of things to worry about; plenty of bad things in the world and neither the middle of nowhere nor the city was safe from them, which was why he was sent here to talk to Markus.

“So why are you here?” Markus asked.

“You don’t know?” Phillip didn’t face the old man. He didn’t want to face him, not yet.

“I’m not a psychic,” Markus said, standing up, Phillip guessed, by the sound of a quick strain in the old man’s voice. “I have my weaknesses.”

Phillip thought about that, then said, “Don’t we all.”

“You didn’t want to come here, did you?” Markus asked. “This must mean something is amiss and you need my help to resolve it. Thus Christopher sent you.”

“Thought you said you sucked at psychic stuff.”

“Yes, but I’m brilliant at common sense.”

Phillip faced the old man, determined and ready, deciding that he need not be intimidated. But those eyes gleamed, like a painting that stared at you from all angles. Phillip glanced away. “You’re right; I didn’t want to come out here. I heard how you handled the Vatican case with the wolves four-years ago. I thought it was... excessive.”

Markus, who had been leaning on a cane that resembled a rotting piece of driftwood, eased himself back into the porch swing, apparently deciding this subject would take a few moments to discuss and he wanted to be comfortable doing it. “Perhaps it was,” he said, “and it will undoubtedly do me no good to try and convince you otherwise, but I can assure you... you having not been there... it was much more complex than blind rage and destruction.”

Asshole... so what if I wasn’t there? He’d still heard what happened. He heard about it from Alexis Jade who was there. “Alexis said you didn’t need to kill as many people as you did. She said you acted prematurely.”

“Alexis is very good... and very young. I’ve heard from Christopher what she’s said about me. I saved her life, you know. If she’d contacted me earlier, perhaps much of the bloodshed could have been avoided, but her pride resulted in her procrastination. I can assure you, young man, she would’ve been killed.”

Phillip winced because though he’d never admit it here, Alexis’s pride cast shadows on many things. He’d been in love with her since the moment he’d met her. He’d heard the story of Markus’s methods from her. She’d failed to mention anything about Markus saving her life. Those were the kinds of details she always left out.

“Didn’t know that did you?” Markus stretched a humorless smile across his wrinkled face.

“She didn’t mention it.” And he wished he didn’t love her so much, because why love someone who wasn’t completely honest? Goddamn it.

“She wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, well, I guess that’s her prerogative. Anyway, this isn’t about Alexis.” Phillip fought a brief urge to have Markus explain further. He wanted to know more about this, but it would have to wait.

“Very well.” Markus clasped his weathered hands together and studied them as if he wondered where they’d come from.

Phillip stepped closer. “Have you heard of Nathaniel Smith?”

Markus’s eyebrows shot up. “I met him years ago,” he said. Phillip thought he detected fear in Markus’s eyes, just a brief flash. Gone like a flicker of light that might never have been there to start with.

“Well, he’s here now, in the United States, and the Society needs you to capture him.”

Markus stared straight ahead, past Phillip and into the distant corn fields. “You need me to capture him? Why not Alexis or Jobe? They are very competent.”

“I was told to get you.”

“I’m an old man. I told Christopher to leave me be. I want to live out my final days here in Taylor County. Now you’re asking me to go after yet another one of your bad guys. Then you chastise my ways? Not off to a good start there, pup.”

“I said I was told to get you. I probably would’ve asked Alexis if it was up to me.”

Markus chuckled. “Lucky for her, it isn’t up to you.”

“Look, I’m flying back to Houston tonight. I need to tell Christopher that you’ll be there in the next few days. Or I can tell him that you said no and that you chose to stay here and do puppet shows for the local brats. Doesn’t really matter to me.”

Markus said, almost in a whisper, “I see.”

“Well, what—” Phillip’s words stopped dead in the air.

An unseen force slammed him back against the dry wood of a door frame, his chest burned from the crushing weight of an invisible hand. He struggled to breathe, to scream, but the pressure only increased. His hands began to shake, and his knees knocked. The loafer on his right foot fell off onto the wood floor with a hollow thump. Jesus Christ, his feet were off the ground!

“I think,” Markus lifted himself with a grimace from the porch-swing, “that what we need to establish here are a few ground rules. You will not insult me in my house, Phillip.” He leaned on his cane and hobbled closer. Phillip watched him, his vision beginning to blur.

The old man stopped in front of him and cast his cold gaze. Phillip trembled as the icy stare sank deep into his bones. His feelings of contempt melted to horror as he stared into the vacant eyes of Markus Blue.

.....

For Markus, it was always the same with these young little shits. They thought they knew everything and that the world revolved around them. Hell, maybe it did, and he was just too old to see it. Only an old bastard would think something like that.

The young man’s mouth hung open, giving the impression that he’d just started to yell Oh shit and got stuck. Phillip’s hair was combed neatly back and blessed with a youthful thickness that prevented the sight of scalp through the grooves made by the comb. Was my hair ever that thick?

He turned away. The sound of the man crashing to the porch floor sparked silent amusement. You’re a schmuck Markus Blue, he thought as Phillip gasped desperately for air. Poignantly, lessons must sometimes be taught for progress to be made.

“Now... shall we start again?” Markus faced Phillip who was just starting to pull his feet hesitantly beneath him.

Phillip got himself into a crouch and stopped there, maybe for fear of toppling over if he stood up too fast. Markus didn’t think he’d actually hurt the young pup, not too bad anyway. But he was getting old; maybe he was losing his touch at gauging restraint.

Still gasping, but more under control, Phillip stood up. His lower lip trembled, and his skin paled. Markus understood the hesitancy and repeated, “Shall we start again?”

Phillip nodded and rubbed his chest.

Markus said, “You mentioned you needed my help to capture Nathaniel Smith, that he was here in the United States. I think I may have gotten us side-tracked.” Markus leaned back against a large, white pillar. “Please continue.”

Phillip touched a shaking hand to his forehead where beads of sweat gleamed like teardrops. His breathing hitched and he kept his gaze down at the porch floor. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke; his voice scratchy like someone who’d just woken up. “We think Nathaniel has created a vampire Legion. No one knows how large or how powerful.” He coughed. “Christopher sent someone to New York to investigate a lair that was thought to be in Manhattan. No one in The Society has heard from him in two weeks.”

“Why is Christopher convinced that this is Nathaniel?” It was good hearing Christopher’s name again, good knowing that his old compatriot - and leader of The Society - was still alive and kicking.

“He didn’t say.”

“Hmmm.” Markus glanced down at Phillip’s feet - noticed the right foot was without a shoe - and then back up to his face. “Surely Nathaniel would know that if he created a Legion, the Society would come after him.”

“Christopher thought that too. The Vatican investigated Nathaniel’s community just south of Hamburg and confirmed that he’d left there several months ago. A report from London suggested evidence of a Legion, somewhere in the southern part of that city. But there was nothing there except for a dozen or so corpses left in an apartment.”

“Were the bodies decapitated?” Markus rubbed his chin. He was an old player in an even older game; most things didn’t amount to shit. But experience taught that the little things made the difference between a false alarm and a dance with the Devil. Markus knew the little things.

“Yes.”

“All of them? Please be sure.”

“Yes, all of them.”

Markus nodded. This was a pretty big little thing. Certainly, an apartment full of headless bodies wasn’t something little, but when establishing the existence of a Legion, that was a red flag not to be ignored. Phillip continued. “The Vatican didn’t find anything. They kept watch in London for several weeks. Nothing happened for a while until a similar case popped up in New York. It was a lot smaller, only about four headless bodies. The Vatican called Christopher to investigate. He sent Jonathan, and he hasn’t heard from him since.”

“Nathaniel seemed very arrogant when I met him years ago. He certainly had no fear of me,” Markus added.

“Christopher is worried about Jonathan. Plus, if it’s Nathaniel...”

“Then you have a rogue vampire on your hands.” Markus shot Phillip an accusing stare.

Phillip nodded.

“And, you may have lost a Wizard.”

Phillip nodded again.

“And now you want me to hunt down Nathaniel and capture him?” Markus asked and chuckled. “God help us.” He laughed and instantly felt the all too familiar wheeze deep in chest, like blood puddled in the bottom of his lungs. He cut off the laugh to avoid a nasty coughing fit.

“Christopher said to get you.” Phillip cast his gaze down at his feet like a puppy after it just shit on the carpet.

“If I were to guess, Christopher is aware of much more than he has told you. In fact, I’d bet he wants me to kill Nathaniel and his Legion. That would be my guess.”

Phillip glanced up and said, “I don’t know.”

Markus thought about it. He wanted no part of this. He liked the quiet life he’d built here – Friday night card games, Law & Order in the commons, and breakfast cooked by the sweet Daisy Howard. He was just another old guy, and no one here knew his past, and there was peace in that. This is how he wanted the rest of his life to be, no matter how much, or how little of it was left. Last December he told Christopher he had to stop, that he was too old to continue and wanted to live out his final months quietly. Months? Christopher had asked. And when Markus didn’t elaborate, Christopher’s lips pressed to a thin line, and he’d simply said, go in peace, old friend.

Now Christopher was calling on him yet again, ostensibly because he had the most experience and was the most powerful. What a fix you’re in Christopher if a dying old man is the best you’ve got. Goddamn Christopher for doing this to him, for putting him in this spot. A vampire was no match for a competent Wizard, but a Legion of vampires could be a different story entirely. There was a good chance that none of the young tykes in the Society had ever dealt with one.

And this was Nathaniel Smith they were talking about; not just any vampire and God only knew what his real name was.

Markus closed his eyes and listened. The birds sang, the breeze softly lapped his gray hair. The faint aroma of sweet corn drifted on the air and Markus thought, only in Indiana does the air smell like that.

Damn it, Christopher.

Markus sighed and said, “You can tell Christopher that I’ll be at his ranch by week’s end.”

Phillip nodded.

“You have a good trip back, Phillip, and I do hope we get off to a better start next time.”

“Yeah.” Phillip picked up his loafer. He slipped it on and trudged down the steps. He looked so defeated that Markus almost felt bad for him.

At the bottom, Phillip stopped, then said, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” Markus said.

“How did you know my name?”

Markus hobbled back to the porch swing. A perceptive young pup, this one was. “Lucky guess I reckon. Like I said, I’m not good at psychic stuff.” Phillip stared at him, either satisfied with the answer or perhaps deciding it wasn’t worth the energy to pursue it (Markus guessed the latter) and ambled back to his car.

Well, this day turned to shit in a hurry. Better enjoy the solitude here before he left. He could not shake the despairing feeling, creeping up from the shadows of an abysmal pit in his aging mind, that this may be his last stay at the Taylor County Nursing Home.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. You can purchase your copy of Markus here: https://www.amazon.com/Markus-David-Odle/dp/1684333083

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The reader’s dilemma – what do I read next?

I’ll read anything, regardless of genre, but I gravitate toward paranormal, dystopian, apocalyptic, and straight-up horror. Quite often, I’ll google for recommendations or I’ll seek advice on what to read next by looking up another author’s recommendations.

So, here are my top 10 must-reads so far in 2019. If you’re a reader, you’ve likely read a few of these, or maybe all, but if you see one (or more) you’ve not read, go get it.
You’ll be glad you did!



Number 1: A Head Full Of Ghosts by Paul Tremblay

A paranormal story about demonic possession, A Head Full of Ghosts delivers in a big way. It’s creepy (even more than Blatty’s, The Exorcist, in my opinion) and compelling. No weird back-bends or excessive demon-bondage, just eerie images and events.

What I loved most: the bulk of the story is expertly written from the perspective of an 8-year-old girl. Paul Tremblay has climbed to the top spot on my favorite authors list.



Number 2: The Passage series by Justin Cronin

An apocalyptic masterpiece, if you ask me. One of the best stories I’ve ever read. Ever. The characters come to life and you literally fall in love with them. It’s the perfect blend of a deadly virus, monsters, and immortality.

What I loved most: the trilogy is told over a thousand-year timeline (though the bulk of the story takes place within a hundred years, give or take) and it works! I read somewhere that Cronin wrote the story for his daughter about a little girl who saves the world. It’s simply extraordinary.



Number 3: The Hunger by Alma Katsu

Quite possibly, the best novel I’ll read this year. I loved The Hunger. Based on the true story of the tragic Donner Party, the story introduces a supernatural element that interweaves historical facts with a terrifying presence that grabs you from the start and never lets go!

What I loved most: it’s down-right creepy; the people and setting feel like the mid-1800s, yet it’s not like reading a history book. Katsu is an amazing writer and I can’t wait to read more from her!



Number 4: Dark Matter by Blake Crouch

Okay, it’s not that stories about alternate universes haven’t been told before, they certainly have, but Blake Crouch told this particular story so damned well! Dark Matter is about a man trying to save his family from multiple versions of himself, all of which believe they are the true and legitimate version.

What I loved most: it’s not confusing and it’s a terrific story. To add on to that, as a writer, I’m so damned envious of Crouch’s literary talent in telling a story like this.



Number 5: Darkness on the Edge of Town by Brian Keene

Admittedly, I found this book by googling “Top horror novels to read”. I’d never heard of Brian Keene before then. This one popped up on that list and I almost ignored it after seeing the cover – not that the cover is that bad, it just seemed a bit homemade. But damn, I’m so glad I bought that book!

What I loved most: the writing is superb. About a town suddenly surrounded by a black, impenetrable cloud, the story rockets forward with believable characters trying to figure it all out. I highly recommend this one if you’re just out for a solid story.



Number 6: The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold

A few of you are probably saying, wait a second, why’s this book on a top ten list of paranormal / horror? Simple answer; because it scared the shit out of me! My friends, if you have kids, especially teenage daughters, this book will seriously bother you. It’s told from the perspective of a fourteen-year-old girl who is kidnapped and murdered - she tells the story as a ghost!

What I loved most: the uniqueness of the story and the connection to the characters. The Lovely Bones is one of those stories that lingers with you long after you’ve finished it!



Number 7: The Amityville Horror by Jay Anson

An oldie but goodie. If you’re looking for something that’s just straight up scary and well-told, I recommend finding a copy of the original Amityville Horror. I read this book years ago, like decades, and there are still creepy parts that haunt me to this day. Stories that have classic movies associated to them can be difficult to read objectively, but if you can do it, I think you’ll be happy you did.

What I loved most: it was scary!



Number 8: Swan Song by Robert McCammon

You can’t go wrong with McCammon. Another one of those writers who’s been around a long time and delivered a ton of good stories. In my opinion, Swan Song is one of his best. Based on a post-nuclear holocaust world, the story focuses on a girl with extraordinary abilities which ultimately impacts the fate of our dying planet.

What I loved most: as I’ve mentioned, I’m a huge fan of the apocalyptic genre and this book brings all of the gritty elements into the story with so many unforgettable scenes and characters that you’ll wish it could keep going.



Number 9: The Stand by Stephen King

I can just hear all of the rants rippling through the crowd right now after seeing this one on here. Some folks will agree with me, others will say, why’d he put that one on there? Why not Salem’s Lot, The Shining, or IT. Let’s just agree right now, The King has written a plethora of novels with an equal right to exist on this list of must-reads. He is also my literary hero. The Stand just happens to be my favorite of his (close runners-up are Cujo, Pet Sematary, and Salem’s Lot). The Stand is another apocalyptic story based on a super-flu killing most of the human race.

What I loved most: it felt so damned real! Especially when the flu was in full swing and wiping people out, whenever I’d sneeze or cough, I’d think, oh shit.



Number 10: The Road by Cormac McCarthy

Last, but not least, The Road is another post-apocalyptic novel that follows a father and his young son on a dangerous walk south to reach the coast. Cormac McCarthy is a fabulous writer and he writes a variety of genres. The Road is, to my knowledge, his only apocalyptic / horror story and he absolutely crushes it with this one. So well-told and contains such emotional depth that it captures true fear in the face of a dying planet.

What I love most: the sheer brutality. McCarthy never reveals the “event” that caused the planet to die, but if you want to read a story about what the end of the world would most likely be like, don’t miss this one. There are no rainbows and unicorns in this one, my friends. Be prepared.



So there you have it; my Top 10 Must-Read recommendations so far in 2019. Not everyone will agree with my list, but that’s okay. Subjectivity is what makes this whole literary world of ours so interesting.

I could easily identify 10 more books, and then 10 more after that, but I think going in groups of 10 is a reasonable, and digestible, amount. I’ll publish more lists, but for now, be sure to check these out. They are truly great stories told by masters of the craft!

Until next time, my friends!

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Darkness on the Edge of Town by Brian Keene

I needed some new reading material so I googled “Stephen King recommended books” and Darkness on the Edge of Town popped up in the search results. I’d never heard of Brian Keene. I wasn’t sure if Stephen King actually recommended it (I know… I know… it was on the internet, so it must be true) and honestly, the cover art wasn’t dazzling. But, I yearned for something new to read so I bought it off Amazon.

I am so glad I did. I loved this book and I discovered another great writer!

I rate it 21 out of a possible 25.

The premise: A town finds itself surrounded by a mysterious darkness, like a thick, black fog, from which there appears to be no escape. No one knows how high it goes, or how far down it goes, or how thick it is. People try to penetrate it, but all indications point to a dangerous, potentially deadly, consequence. Even more creepy is not knowing if this is a world-wide problem or if it’s isolated to only this town. Local society quickly degrades and ultimately collapses, leaving the main characters in a desperate attempt to try and escape from the darkness.  

Brian Keene told this story wonderfully. It prompted the right amount of trepidation while reading it. Too often, a book is just too long for a simple plot. Or, the characters do stupid things that you can’t relate to because they’re stupid and you think, no one would actually do that, which at that point, I lose interest. But, I can assure you, that’s not the case here.

Brian Keene delivered on this one!

Here are my thoughts and ratings on Darkness on the Edge of Town.

Craft (5) – Well-written! Keene’s style is fast-paced, punchy, and keeps the story spiraling forward. What I love about a fast-paced writing style, when it’s done well, is how wonderful it flows. It’s easy to engulf the words with no stumbling, re-reading, or clunky sentence structures in awkward attempts to sound “writerly”. Keene is a story teller, plain and simple, and he’s good at it.

Pace (4) – As I mentioned above, Keene’s style in this book lends to a fast-paced story. He keeps you moving forward and doesn’t get hung up in boring scenes that ultimately have no relevance. That said, he elaborates in the right places and doesn’t fly past a scene you might want to spend some time in. He’s quite intuitive in that way. The book isn’t long, which is good for a story like this, and by the time you reach the end, you’ve arrived faster than you thought because you were so caught up in it! My only critique is just that; I wanted more story!

Characters (4) – The story is told in first-person, which I enjoy. That said, first-person does limit the opportunity to hear the story from other perspectives. In a story like this, I’d love to understand what other characters are thinking. Don’t get me wrong, first-person works well and Keene pulls it off superbly. The characters are believable and react with realistic emotions and dialogue.

Story (4) – This is my kind of story. Characters who find themselves in this bizarre circumstance and must think their way out of it. I found this story reminiscent of Under the Dome by Stephen King (which I enjoyed except for the ending), especially in how the characters dealt with the darkness surrounding them. They attempted to explain it, to test it, and when they learned it was dangerous, they reacted the way you would expect people to react. I never got the sense that characters were doing things for the convenience of plot.

Ending (4) – It ended well, but mysteriously, which worked since the words were technically part of a journal. I felt only a little robbed by not learning what happened to the characters, but, there was no other way it could end. I’ve been told that the best ending is one that is inevitable. This one was and it worked.

 If you’re looking for a fast read (clocking in at 186 pages) that is wonderfully written, contains believable characters, and sparks a sense of dread, then you will definitely enjoy Darkness on the Edge of Town. I certainly did.

My recommendation is to get it!

It’s dark fiction, but it’s not gory or immoral; it’s just a great story with gritty circumstances. I am now a devoted Brian Keene fan!

Feel free to leave your thoughts. As always, I’d love to hear them. And I hope you enjoy Darkness on the Edge of Town!

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7 Myths of being a writer

So, you want to be a writer.

Maybe it’s something you’re pursuing or maybe you know someone who published a book and you try to imagine what it must be like to be them. Maybe you’ve got some extra time, perhaps retired or the kids have moved out, and you’ve always had a passion to write a book. From the data I’ve gathered on the web, 80% of Americans say they’d like to write a book. Why not, right? Who knows, maybe you’ll hit it big. Hell, maybe people will start to recognize you.

Or maybe that’s just silly.

For some, writing is what they’re born to do, their passion consumes them, and they visualize themselves as real writers. They’re frustrated because they struggle to get published and their wives, husbands, or significant others don’t take them seriously. It’s just a little hobby. Not real work.

Regardless of what drives your desire, writing is no different than any other dream-based pursuit (acting, singing, etc.) where for every star that burns there’s a million sparks that went out. And so often, it’s devastating to those who experience it. Trust me, I know.

So, a warning right now – this article is about the misconceptions of being a writer, the myths I’ve experienced. I’ll quote a few stats that I found on the web, though I can’t vouch for accuracy. Take them as anecdotal, but understand, achieving success as a writer requires a great deal more than having the dream and writing a book.

Be realistic. Know what’s true and what’s bullshit. Trust me on this too; plenty of people will feed you bullshit if you pay them. You can’t be naïve. Being realistic starts with debunking some popular myths.

Many of you will know this list. You’ve learned it. Some things on this list will be obvious and others you may stop and consider. One thing I can assure you – I didn’t steal these items off of another blog or regurgitate what someone else said, though many of these things have been said before. These are the things that I’ve learned, sometimes through tears and embarrassment, over the years.

The myths of being a writer.

 

 

Myth1: You’ll make money

Here’s the thing; you won’t.

In fact, you’ll be lucky if you make enough money in a year to pay a single car payment (that’s assuming you drive a cheap car). 90% of self-published authors sell less than 100 copies of their books, so most are in that $100 - $1,000 or less category. Traditionally published authors fair a little better, around 3,000 copies sold on average, but still not making enough to feed themselves or to quit their day job.

And folks, in 2018 the number of self-published books cracked 1 million. That is a shit-load of books. An ocean of books cranked out in a single year. In 2017, over 300,000 books were traditionally published. As you’ve probably heard before… 1% of authors make 99% of the money.

So, if writing books is your retirement plan, eat well before you start because you’ll likely be hungry. Unless of course, you break into that 1%...

 

Myth 2: You’ll get famous

Yep, your mom will be proud. Your family. Close friends. They’ll all give you big smiles and atta-boys, and some will even talk to you like you’re the real thing. Of course, we all know it’s because many of our friends and family don’t know any better and we don’t correct them because we like being treated like writers, don’t we?

You might build a bit of a local following, if you work hard at arranging speaking engagements or author signings. But most of us will never be recognized at airports or shopping malls. Because in the end, the toughest thing to accept is that very few people really care that you wrote a book. That’s the hurdle to overcome… when you get right down to it, that’s the work.

 

Myth 3: Publishing is easy

Okay, in all seriousness, this one is both yes and no. Yes, with today’s technology and ease of self-publishing it’s now simple to publish a book. It’s also pretty cheap. However, if you want to do it right, there’s nothing easy about it. The editing, oh my god the editing, and the marketing, there’s just so much. And, if you’re traditionally published, the waiting and the rewriting, the requests for changes, and it just goes on and on.

Writing the book is the easy part. Publishing it so that it has a snowball’s chance in hell at selling a few hundred copies, now that’s difficult.

 

Myth 4: Perseverance gets you an agent

My ass. There are always exceptions of course, but for most of us, the process sucks. Seriously, it’s downright miserable. Oh I know, everyone says the same thing… you need to have thick skin, don’t take it personally, you must have perseverance, blah, blah, blah. And, let’s face it, those statements are true. No one has ever gotten an agent who didn’t have thick skin, or that took everything personally, and didn’t persevere.

But here’s my thing; I hate rejections. They take the energy right out of my sails.

You write a query letter, which god knows what the secret recipe is for that damn thing, then you have to submit it and hope that the agent or editor finds your letter intriguing enough to ask to read your manuscript. Holy god. Talk about something that’ll drive you nuts. If you ask a hundred different people what they think of your query letter, you’ll get a hundred different answers. There is absolutely nothing easy about getting an agent.

You want to know the best way to get an agent? Attend a writers’ conference, or similar event, where agents attend and you get to meet them in person.

I’m dead serious here.

It’s your best shot. It’ll probably cost to attend the event, you may have to fight crowds to speak with them, the whole thing may even overwhelm you the first time you attend one, but I’m telling you right now, it works.

I met the agent I signed with while having cigarette break at a writers’ conference. We just hit it off.

I’ve met several literary agents over the years and I can honestly say, I’ve only met one I didn’t enjoy speaking to (no naming here – if you spend much time around literary agents, you’ll learn it’s a small world). Most of them are amazing people who love books and are just trying to make a living. In the end, it’s superb writing that trumps everything. Something unique.

 

Myth 5: Readers will leave reviews

Some will. I’ve had several readers leave reviews and to them, I’m eternally grateful. That said, most folks won’t. It’s not convenient and requires effort. So be thankful to anyone who leaves you a review because it’s a pain in the ass to do it. Everyone is busy.

Here’s what will happen when you’re about to release a book; you’ll talk to people, they’ll get all fired up and tell you how excited they are for you, and you’ll ask them, “hey, when the book comes out, can you please leave a review on Amazon?” They’ll agree to do it, wholeheartedly, they’ll agree. “Hell yeah,” they might say. You’ll start thinking damn, I’ll have like thirty reviews on Amazon within the first month!

The day comes. Your book releases and… nothing. You start to realize a lot of those same people never actually read your book. And worst of all, you start to realize how many of those same people never even bought it. It can be disheartening.

If you want any shot at getting reviews, start networking, get to know other writers and get innovative on how to incentivize folks to read and review your book. And when you find the secret recipe, let me know!

 

Myth 6: You don’t need an editor

Here’s one of my favorites and I hear it all the time: My wife, husband, sister, brother, best friend, etc. is a good editor… they are brutally honest.

I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m just telling you right now, they’re not. I know you think they are and they genuinely try to be, I’m not degrading them personally, but until you accept the fact that it is impossible for them to be completely honest, you will struggle. But wait, you say, that’s bullshit. Stephen King’s wife played (and continues to play) a crucial role in his success. And on that, you’d be right. But let me clarify a few things:

First off, you are not Stephen King.

Second, Stephen King’s wife is a published novelist, so she has a few credentials.

Third, and last, Stephen King’s wife is not his editor. Trust me on this, when Stephen King delivered Salem’s Lot to his publisher, he did not say, hey, Tabitha already edited this, so it should be ready for print.

Objective editing is crucial. I can’t stress this enough. There are two main types of edits – the development edit and the copy edit. You need both. If you’re published by one of the Big 5 publishers, they’ll have their own extremely competent editors on staff to do this for you. If you’re published by an Indie publisher, they may or may not have editors on staff. If your self-published, then it’s all on you.

Editors are expensive. If you can afford it, I highly recommend hiring a good editor. The objectivity is priceless. The main challenge with hiring an independent editor is simply this – they make their money editing your work. This means you may not get the most honest opinion on whether your story is any good – if they tell you it’s bad, then they won’t make any money editing it. Use your beta readers for story validity (this is where your wife, husband, brother, mom, etc. are needed, assuming they are actually brutally honest).

Use your editor to perfect it.

 

Myth 7: People will flock to see you

I have to admit, this one hit me the hardest. I’d finally done it! I’d achieved my life-long dream… a publisher actually accepted my novel! Holy cow, I can’t express just how excited I was. So much was happening. I completed edits, rewrites, corrections, etc. and though it required an enormous amount of work, I loved it because I was doing what I loved.

Look out, King, there’s a new sheriff in town and his name is David Odle.

I had three events lined up post-publication. A signing at a bookstore in Southern Indiana and readings in Austin and San Antonio. I posted the upcoming events on social media, received a ton of ‘likes’, and grew excited to actually start interacting with readers. Actual fans! I even ordered sixty of my own books since two of the bookstores did consignment.

The first event was a book-signing. I had the table set up, my were books spread out in front of me, ready for the crowd. In the two hours I was there, three people showed up. Three.

Hey, no biggie. The next event was a reading and signing in Austin, TX. I know a lot of people in Austin and loads of people told me they were coming. I was pumped. Like twenty chairs were set out, I had a podium, the lighting was perfect. I hoped there’d be enough chairs for everyone! And eight people showed up - friends and people I work with, and my daughter.

They all made the event a blast, they asked me questions like I was someone important, and many of them purchased books, but at the end of the night, I had no crowd, no one was there because I was a writer with a great book. Everyone was there because they knew me, liked me, and wanted to support me, and god love them for that, but it wasn’t the crowd I’d dreamed it would be.

The event in San Antonio was worse. I don’t know as many people there, so less people showed up. My wife was there, God love her, my in-laws, and my daughter. I also reconnected with an old high-school friend who moved down there, which was really cool, but no crowd. Certainly no one was there to meet a writer they didn’t know.

No one cared that I wrote a book.

 

 

I’ve learned a lot in my journey and I’m continuing to learn. Honestly, Myth 7 hurt the worst. It’s embarrassing when no one shows up. You feel foolish standing there. Then you start debating canceling any upcoming events and never scheduling another one.

Your disheartened. It hurts.

 

Now, I totally realize there are exceptions to my 7 myths. Several writers experience success. But I want to point out one thing as my parting words on this post…

hardly any of those writers wrote only one book. Most of them have multiple books published. They’ve done the work. They’ve spoken to the empty rooms. They’ve fought through the rejections.

You know, after writing this article, maybe there’s something to perseverance after all.

Maybe I need to rethink this whole damned thing!

 

Until next time, my friends.