Val Muller

The Electronic Wordsmith

The main character (we’ll call him “Hank”) in this young adult novel wakes up at a train station in New York with a bump on his head, a copy of Walden beside him, and a little bit of money in his front pocket. He can’t remember who he is or why he’s there.

I did end up enjoying this book. It took a while to “sell me” on it, though, and here’s why: the main character could not remember who he was, and so as a reader, I was distrustful. I didn’t want to allow myself to “like” him or his current personality lest I find out something that contradicted the character I came to like. So I tried to keep my distance.

At first, “Hank” (he takes that name after Henry David Thoreau) bumps into two homeless kids his own age. They have fallen in with the wrong crowd, and they both help him and hurt him. Hank ends up jumping onto a train and running to the site of Walden Pond—he feels guided by the book in his possession. While there, he runs into some people who help him (I won’t spoil anymore), including a girl he falls for.

I found myself enjoying the story much more after he regained many of his memories. It’s a well-written book, and I always felt compelled to continue reading in order to see if Hank ever regained all his memories. It’s a quick, suspenseful read, and I enjoyed the last scene very much.


 

This book is one of the 2014-15 Loudoun County Battle of the Books selections. The selections are as follows. Since The Scarred Letter was chosen as one of the selections, I will be attending the competition and will also be reading the rest of the selections. Books I’ve reviewed from this list are hyperlinked:

 

I’m not sure whether I have seasonal affective disorder or what—but during those long, cold winter months, I feel cut off. Cut off from what? Nature? It’s more than that. I almost feel—cut off from my soul.

I always forget just how many hours of my free time I spend outdoors when I’m able to. The dark winter months fill me with such nostalgia. It’s around the time that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be warm—I mean to legitimately feel warm sunlight on my skin—that the pain of being stuck indoors really hits. The house becomes a prison, and my sentence—time away from nature—is far too long.

Thankfully, there is always a reprieve.

This week, spring truly arrived. The grass shed its lifeless color. Flowers poked strongly out of the ground. I set up my hammock and brought a notebook outside—I’m often inspired to write while outdoors. But I didn’t write anything. I just sat and enjoyed nature. Watched how blue the sky could grow. Felt the breeze cool my skin from the sunlight. Listened to the birds.

I was so overwhelmed by the peace of nature that I put on my running shoes and ran. I’ve been running a mile or two lately, but this time I decided just to run. I ended up running six miles, and it felt amazing. I didn’t feel like I was exercising. I wasn’t counting minutes or laps or thinking about burning lungs or aching muscles. I was enjoying the privilege of being outdoors. I smelled manure and fertilizer. It smelled delightful. I smelled early spring flowers. Even more amazing. On one section of road, tiny sprouts of green grass were peeking out from a deep pile of sand left from winter snow treatments. Life had returned. I heard barking dogs and playing children and music pounding out of wide-open windows of cars.

This tree hasn't sprouted its leaves yet, but the bird singing atop it provides its own prelude to nature's magic.

This tree hasn’t sprouted its leaves yet, but the bird singing atop it provides its own prelude to nature’s magic.

And then I came back from my run and called my dogs to my side, and the three of us sat in the hammock and listened forever to the sound of a bird. Maybe the three of us were channeling Thoreau, but there was something completely magical and tranquil about that bird. It calmed even the dogs.

I’m not sure what it is about nature, but on days like this one, it makes everything seem more reasonable. Bad news never seems as terrible when contemplated out in nature. Things Worried About never cause as much stress when out in nature. Maybe the outdoors helps us feel connected to that marvelous spirit or force or being from which society pulls us.

Earlier this week, one of my classes asked if they could have their class discussion in the courtyard outside. The day was overcast but pleasant, and the cool breeze calling them through the window seemed much more inviting than the stale air reeking from the radiator. I thought about my hammock and my dogs and my bird, and I smiled at them.

How could I say no?

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This week’s prompt is based on “he threw open the door…” Today’s story comes from Val Muller, author of The Scarred Letter, the young adult reboot being featured in next week’s Battle of the Books competition in Loudoun County, Virginia.

Getting Down to Business

By Val Muller

He threw open the front door. The scent of home hit him in a wave of nausea. Not nostalgia. More like returning to the scene of torture endured too many years, a place repressed but not forgotten. And he was here to confront his oppressors.

It was the familiar musk of pot—his parents’ perpetual weekend recreation. The beaded door to the kitchen swung in the draft from the open door, click-clacking in a slow, lazy way. From the open kitchen window, mellow guitar riffs wafted inside, revealing his parents’ location. It was May, after all, warm enough that they’d spend much of the next five months outdoors.

Nature was their time machine.

A glance at the seventies-green chair and ottoman brought memories of stained-black feet, skin covered in layers of dirt and grime from going barefoot. Memories of ironic pleading to be allowed a bath. Memories of dismissive laughter. Stop being so establishment.

Hippies apparently were immune to germs.

A splattering of small, round mirrors hung on the wall above the piano, and Ron glanced at his reflections. That’s right—he was Ron, not Phobos, the name they’d forced upon him. Ron: a respectable, normal, American name. Ron was not the name of a hippie.

It was the name of a businessman.

The man reflected in the scattered circles was a businessman, too. He was clean-shaven with hair sculpted and short. His polo and khakis were what his parents would call “a uniform,” and maybe they were right. It was the uniform of a businessman, at least on the weekends. The hair—he could almost hear his mother already. A buzz cut? Have you enlisted? She’d ask this while looking at him over—literally—rose-colored glasses, her hair long and gray and bound in a colored headband of paisleys or flowers or psychedelic splotches. He could already hear her deep laughter—as if ready for Ron to reveal the punchline, that he was just kidding after all.

He could see his father, too, a gray, thinner Jerry Garcia, strumming the guitar and glancing up at Ron with mellow eyes. Would those eyes flash in disappointment, a sudden jolt of adrenaline disrupting the cosmic balance they’d been working so hard to achieve in this house since the Sixties ended?

Ron cleared his throat, glancing at himself once again, rehearsing his announcement. “Mom, Dad—” he refused to call them Sapphire and Unity anymore; they were his parents, dammit!— “You wanted me to go to college to find myself.” His voice wavered. “And I have. I’ve decided on my major. I’m going into business.” He flashed a smile at himself in the mirrors, steeling himself against their inevitable reactions. Then he glanced toward the kitchen’s back door.

The patio, the warm breeze, the doped-out parents awaited. He could delay reality no more. If they freaked, he’d go back to school and spend the summer in Brent’s apartment. But they needed to know. They’d spent their lives in search of the truth, and this was his.

He inhaled once more, straightened his posture, and stepped to the back of the kitchen.

Then he threw open the door.

 


 

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

RC Bonitz: http://www.rcbonitz.com

 

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

 

Catherine A. MacKenzie: http://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

 

Kathy Price: http://www.kathylprice.com

 

Written in the voice of 15/16-year old Felton Reinstein, this story is told as Felton looks back upon a very trying summer he’s had.

When he was five (we learn in the very first few pages), Felton opened the garage door to discover his father had committed suicide. His mother raised him unconventionally, asking to be called “Jerri” instead of “Mom.” But this summer is the most uncomfortable of his life. Felton has experienced a growth spurt, and none of his clothes fit anymore. Everyone at school seems to be crazy about his growth spurt, asking him to go out for football and track (he’s “stupid fast,” it turns out). But worst of all, his mother is acting crazy. Literally. Drinking. Allowing bad behavior. Locking herself in the bedroom.

All this when Felton needs her the most.

I enjoyed the voice in the story. Felton speaks honestly, and he mentions the gritty parts of being a teenager, but because he’s relatively innocent (as his love interest tells him), it’s kept toned down for the reader. Profanities are used—but only when needed. Other books I’ve read contain so many profanities that they lose their meaning (granted, some teenagers do have “potty mouths”).

I read the novel in about a day. I hadn’t meant to, but it was difficult to put down, building steadily as it drew toward the end. While I could definitely see that this book targets male readers, I could also see female teenagers being captivated by his story. Aleah, his love interest, helps to keep him grounded.

It’s always interesting to read a young adult book as a “grown-up” because I have such a different perspective in looking at the adult characters. Reading from a teenage perspective, I want to hate Jerri for failing to keep it together for her children–after all, they are her responsibility. But as an adult, I can see how hard it must be struggling with a mental illness (long in the making) while putting your two sons in front of you. I enjoyed the tension caused by trying to understand both sides of the fence.

 


This book is one of the 2014-15 Loudoun County Battle of the Books selections. The selections are as follows. Since The Scarred Letter was chosen as one of the selections, I will be attending the competition and will also be reading the rest of the selections. Books I’ve reviewed from this list are hyperlinked:

 

Life is beautiful. It wants to thrive no matter what obstacles are thrown its way. It’s why we hear miraculous stories of survival.

Recently, I dabbled in a new martial arts/dance form known as capoeira. Though its roots are mysterious, it’s thought the musical fighting form came from Brazil during the 16th Century, during which time slaves had to disguise attempts at fighting/escape with entertainment (dance). It’s a beautiful and powerful art form, even more so because it illustrates the human will to survive and throw off oppression using any means possible.

The etymology of the word “survive” comes to us from Latin and means “Live” “beyond.” Etymologically, “thrive” is an Old Norse word that meant “To grasp or take hold of (oneself).” I love both of these roots. Both of them carry the connotation of reaching beyond ourselves and pushing ourselves to do more than we thought possible.

This winter was an especially trying one, with snow and cold snaps seeming never to end. But there’s a tenacious little plant, a grouping of daffodils, in my front garden that beautifully illustrates the beauty and strength that flows through life:

It started with a few green sprouts peeking out at the beginning of February. I wanted to shout at them that it was too early; February is the worst month for snow, and I was afraid they might be killed by the terrible cold snaps.

almost

Sure enough, the snow came. Again and again. At first, I couldn’t even see the green sprouts. But then in March–yes, we had our final snow in late March even this far south–they were visible with the starts of flowers.

almost003

Spring–bringing life–wants to succeed. The very next day, the snow melted, leaving:

almost002

They were safe and sound. And soon enough, this happened:

almost004But it was so cold that they remained yellow and unopened for over a week. I worried that the cold might have damaged the flowers. But I was reminded that life likes to survive and thrive:

almost005In the throes of demoralizing winter, it was difficult some days to imagine that spring would ever arrive. The cold was so intense, so bitter, that it was easy to believe it would last forever. It was easy to forget what it felt like to feel warm–and hot–as a result of the sun. It was easy to believe that the Arctic blasts would kill all the plants. But life is stronger than that. And so is hope.

So Happy Friday, and as you go through each day, enjoy all the ways you’re pushing beyond what you thought possible, taking hold of yourself and your life.

Survive.

Thrive.

Live.

Welcome to the Spot Writers. The prompt for this month is to write a story including the line “He threw open the door…..

 

Today’s contribution comes from RC Bonitz, author of A BLANKET FOR HER HEART. His latest book, DANGEROUS DECISIONS, has just been accepted for publication by REBEL INK PRESS.

 

            A STRANGER AT THE DOOR

by RC Bonitz

 

Ring, ring.

 

The doorbell? Who in the world could be out in this weather? And at his door. His driveway hadn’t been plowed; the sidewalk was knee deep in snow.

 

Jim struggled up out of his TV chair, stuck the crutch underneath his arm, and hobbled to the front door, dragging the cast on his left foot across the floor… Damn nuisance, whoever it was.

 

He threw open the front door and stared at the Eskimo in front of him. Well, the guy looked like an Eskimo with his fur-lined hood pulled up around his head, his parka snugged up tight…

 

Up to his knees in snow, the guy gave him a beaming smile. “Shovel your walk, Sir?”

 

Jim stared. That voice. It sounded like… It couldn’t be, could it? “Are you a woman?”

 

She frowned. “Does that make a difference?”

 

“Well, no, of course not. I’m just surprised.”

 

“I need the money, so here I am. Looks like you could use the help, what with that cast and all.

 

“My plow guy hasn’t shown up. His equipment broke down.”

 

“Well then, I’m just the woman for you.”

 

Jim shifted his weight, stalling for time. Hire a woman to shovel for him? He’d never live it down. What would his buddies say? He shifted again and fell hard against the doorframe.

 

“Are you al—” the woman said, but a sliding, roaring sound cut her off as a pile of snow cascaded off the roof, down in front of the front door. All over her.

 

Jim stared, horrified. “Are you okay? I’m sorry.”

 

Up to her waist now, snow clinging to the fur around her face, she grinned at him.

 

“I was going to tell you. I clear roofs, too.”

 


 

 

The Spot Writers—our members:

 

RC Bonitz: http://www.rcbonitz.com

 

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

 

Catherine A. MacKenzie: http://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

 

Kathy Price: http://www.kathylprice.com

 

JP_ShelukToday I’m featuring mystery writer Judy Penz Sheluk. Check out her guest post below, and then read about how to enter to win one of her books!

As a mystery writer, I’m often asked where I get my ideas. The answer to that varies by the story, although I’ll admit that there’s always some impetus that drives me to want to develop the fictional characters and inhabit their world for a while.

Let’s take, for example, my short story “Live Free or Die,” which appears in World Enough and Crime (Carrick Publishing, Nov. 2014). A crime fiction anthology that includes 22 short stories and one poem, the collection includes award-winning authors like Melodie Campbell, M.H. Callway (her story, “The Ultimate Mystery” was shortlisted for a 2014 Derringer Award) and Kevin P. Thornton, along with lesser-known and emerging writers. But back to “Live Free or Die.”

Although the story takes place in Toronto, Canada, as the title suggests, New Hampshire is most definitely represented. Without giving too much away, the plot involves a naïve twenty-one-year-old, Emerald (Emmy) and her love affair with Jack, a thirty-year-old man from New Hampshire who’s not all that he seems. Am I Emmy? Of course not. But, like Emmy, I did once work in the credit department of a Toronto-based insurance company, and I did have the misfortune of falling head over heels for a cad I met while working there. I merely took those circumstances and said, “What if?”

Cover_-WEAC[1]Writing a novel takes even more of those “What if?” moments. In my debut mystery, The Hanged Man’s Noose (Barking Rain Press, July 2015), freelance writer Emily Garland is cash-strapped, newly single, and tired of reporting on the same old Toronto condo stats. When she’s offered a lucrative assignment in the village of Lount’s Landing, she decides to take a chance. All she has to do is relocate and uncover the real story behind a proposed redevelopment plan. And that’s where “What if?” comes in—along with a greedy developer and a feisty antiques shop owner who will do anything to preserve the integrity of the town’s Main Street.

Once again, I’m not Emily Garland. I have, however, been a fulltime freelance writer, specializing in art, antiques and the residential housing industry, since 2003. (I’m still waiting for a lucrative assignment to come my way.) I’ve also seen firsthand how irate people can get when unwanted development comes to their neighborhood. What if???

Getting ideas is as simple as paying attention to the world around me. The “what if’s” are what help me turn those ideas into fiction.

Enter by April 15th to WIN a copy of World Enough and Crime! Details can be found at www.facebook.com/JudyPenzSheluk. You can also find Judy on her website/blog at www.judypenzsheluk.com.

 

World Enough and Crime Amazon link

The Lady of Steinbrekka is a young adult fantasy about a twenty-something named Rhea who finds herself kidnapped and taken to a fantasy world run by a despotic king and evil prince. She’d been a grad student in “the real world,” and she was over-worked and lonely, her friend Matt having disappeared without explanation several years earlier.

When she arrives in the strange new world, little is explained to her, but she finds out that others have also been kidnapped from her world, and time runs differently in each place. Though the king did send thugs to kidnap more “Earthlings,” it was said that Rhea could never go back. I felt that this fact, plus the whole reason for the kidnappings, was simply taken at face value and never fully explained for the reader. Some of those kidnapped have memories of their former lives, but most do not after having gone through a demanding trial.

While at court in the new world, Rhea has to learn a series of convoluted and misogynistic customs lest she upset someone in high power (the king or prince) and get whipped or cause her life (or the life of someone close to her) to become forfeit. She has two love interests in the book, but there are no sex scenes or anything like that—it’s for young adults. Rhea retains her memories of her old life, a fact that she seems to have to hide much more in the beginning of the book.

What I enjoyed: I liked the imaginative world, and I liked the severe trial Rhea had to go through before she was allowed to join the court. I wanted more of that fantasy world in the book—the strange dream-scape. It was the part of the world I could most vividly visualize. Rhea has a talent for this world–bringing a garden back to life and surviving her trial while meeting several “supernatural” beings. I wanted to know more about the magic of this world and how it resonated with Rhea. This to me is what made the novel unique. There were lots of unique elements that reminded me of some of my favorite books: the otherworldliness of A Wrinkle in Time, the romance (though much more toned down) of the Poison Study series, and the unfairly male-dominated society of The Handmaiden’s Tale.

What I wished: The pacing seemed a little long-winded sometimes, with the descriptions running a tad bit long (but if you read my other reviews, you’ll see that this is often a complaint of mine when it comes to fantasy!). I felt the words could have been better spent developing more of the characters. For example, I never really “felt” the love Rhea shared with one (and maybe a second) of the characters. I also didn’t understand why the king and prince were just so darn evil. Some more fleshing out there would have helped make the world feel more solid.


 

This book is one of the 2014-15 Loudoun County Battle of the Books selections. The selections are as follows. Since The Scarred Letter was chosen as one of the selections, I will be attending the competition and will also be reading the rest of the selections. Books I’ve reviewed from this list are hyperlinked:

 

 

In Alice in Wonderland, Alice says, “sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

I’m reading another book, The Martian, about a man who is left stranded on Mars and struggles to survive.

Come to think of it, many books I enjoy are about people overcoming impossible things—or trying to, anyway. I love that about literature—the way it captures the best parts of the human spirit. That drive to survive, and then some.

So for today’s Fantastic Friday post, I wanted to share three “impossible things” I’ve read about recently, all true, one about the medical field, one about human behavior, and one about weather:

  1. Scientists are currently experimenting with an ancient Anglo-Saxon recipe (consisting of easy-to-find ingredients) that has been having success countering deadly MRSA. You can read the details here. Amazing that so many years and innovations later, we aren’t even sure why this combination of ingredients is so effective!
  2. It’s easy to let rudeness and disrespect get you down, but in case you missed it, here’s the viral story of a mother who took measures to rectify her daughters’ rude behavior at a movie theater. After learning (from her son) that her daughters were rude to another movie patron, the woman posted an apology on Facebook, asking for the woman who was wronged to come forward so that her daughters could apologize and pay for her to enjoy another (undisrupted) night at the movies. After the post went viral, the two women connected, and the story has a happy ending. Three cheers for great parenting!
  3. I came across these pictures of amazing “wave clouds,” otherwise known as undulatus asperatus clouds, captured on film from South Carolina and Georgia earlier this week.  The amazing view us a reason not to grumble about cloudy weather!

Remember that even when it’s easy to get bogged down by negative people and circumstances in life, there are always amazing things around you if you just look closely enough.

Welcome to the Spot Writers weekly flash fiction! This month’s prompt is to use the moon as a major theme.

 

The Amberwood Wyvern

by Kathy L. Price

 

“Oh, most Gracious Goddess,” Kandyll prayed as he sprinted down the forest track. “Guide my steps along the path. May your silvered light show the way and help me fulfill my task.” The trees were not thick in this section of wood and enough light from the full moon filtered through the canopy for Kandyll to see well enough to run. In twenty minutes he had almost reached the clearing. Now, the question was, should he risk taking the main path straight through the field or spend an extra ten minutes circling around? Time was of the essence but it wouldn’t do if he were caught or killed.

Kandyll decided to duck off the main trail and take the smaller, secondary path to the right. He slowed to a walk and found a break in the undergrowth where he could observe the field beyond. The moon flooded it with light, making it nearly as bright as day, and he could see shadows cast by the small herd of cows. They seemed to be nervous, glancing up from time to time to look around. He heard nothing but normal night sounds but continued to make his way through the brush as quietly as he could. When he neared the crest of a small hill, he ducked low and kept away from the top of the ridge. If there was someone down in the clearing, he didn’t want to be silhouetted against the sky if they happened to look up.

When he reached Observation Rock, he had an excellent view of the entire field below and the road which ran through the countryside beyond the wood. Kandyll paused to catch his breath and survey the area. He glanced up at the silver disk of moon in the sky and prayed again for help. As if in answer, the moonlight glinted off numerous spear points and the armor of half a dozen knights on their chargers.

“Oh, most merciful Goddess, thank you, thank you, thank you,” Kandyll whispered. He could just discern a couple of advanced scouts making their way up the swale half-way across the field. If he had run straight along the main path to save time, as he had originally intended, he would have run right into them. The Goddess was truly smiling on him with favor.

From his vantage point, Kandyll could see the remaining army strung out along the road to the north. Without wasting any more time, he turned and dashed down the hill to the south, driven faster by his new knowledge and the urgency of the situation. He shuddered to think what would happen if he did not reach Cimerthyl Tyne Castle with the warning and appeal for help.

Half an hour later he emerged from the back trail in the woods and stepped onto the main road. It had seemed quiet and another prayer to the Goddess reassured him it’d be safe. He broke into a run, knowing he had another two miles to go. It had taken him far longer than he had wanted to make it this far but he was glad he’d been careful. He hoped the other messengers, mounted on horseback, had gotten through faster and the alert had already been sounded.

At the village, all was quiet as he made his way through the warren of alleyways and when he reached the castle, there was little activity. It was as if no alarm had been raised. Had the mounted messengers been captured? Had Cimerthyl Castle already been taken?

Kandyll slipped into the shadows and took a moment to watch the guards patrolling along the tops of the walls. Everything looked normal. Maybe he was being too cautious. Besides, he couldn’t hide forever. Gathering his courage, he stepped out into the road and approached the guard at the gate.

Half-dozing in the pre-dawn stillness, the solitary guard startled at Kandyll’s seemingly sudden appearance. After listening to Kandyll’s hurried explanation, and glancing at the “Send help now” token in his hand, the guard quickly passed the information along and Kandyll was admitted through the outer wall. The change happened faster than anything Kandyll could have imagined. From a sleepy, the-day-hasn’t-started-yet quiet to a full-on call to arms took less than five minutes. The previously placid courtyard vibrated with men rushing in all directions. What had appeared to Kandyll as total chaos soon became organized into orderly groups of knights being lifted onto their chargers. Squires rapidly fastened the last of the armor while the enthusiastic squires-in-training continued to gather gear and race to do their masters’ biddings.

The biggest shock of all came when the king himself strode across the courtyard and addressed Kandyll. “What’s the report? Who are they and what are their numbers?”

Speechless, Kandyll stood there with his mouth open. “Ah,” was all he was able to utter.

The king put a kindly hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, boy. I won’t bite, but I do need to know what’s out there. The Amberwood Wyvern is never sent without good cause. What did you see?”

Kandyll closed his eyes and asked the Goddess again for help. He then recounted everything he saw by her light – the number of knights; more importantly, their banners and coat of arms; an estimate of the archers and foot soldiers; how many wagons to the rear. His recall was nearly perfect and when he finished, the king clapped him on the back and said, “Well, done, boy. Now, go to the kitchens for a bite to eat then get some rest. You’ve done well.”

Kandyll watched as the assembled army rode out the gates. He would go to the kitchens for some food, but fully intended to follow the king into battle.

 

The Spot Writers–Our Members:

 

RC Bonitz: http://www.rcbonitz.com

 

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

 

Catherine A. MacKenzie: http://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

 

Kathy Price: http://www.kathylprice.com