Val Muller

The Electronic Wordsmith
Today, I’m taking part in a book review/tour on the book Meritropolis by Joel Ohman. I signed up for the tour with Juniper Grove Book Solutions because this freedom-themed book seemed like it would be right up my alley. Check out the synopsis and excerpts, enter the giveaway for a chance to win, and then read my review at the end of the post!
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About The Book

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Published:  September 9th, 2014
Genre:  YA Sci-Fi Dystopian
Recommended Age:  14+
Synopsis:
The year is AE3, 3 years after the Event. Within the walls of Meritropolis, 50,000 inhabitants live in fear, ruled by the brutal System that assigns each citizen a merit score that dictates whether they live or die. Those with the highest scores thrive, while those with the lowest are subject to the most unforgiving punishment–to be thrust outside the city gates, thrown to the terrifying hybrid creatures that exist beyond.
But for one High Score, conforming to the System just isn’t an option. Seventeen-year-old Charley has a brother to avenge. And nothing–not even a totalitarian military or dangerous science–is going to stop him.
Where humankind has pushed nature and morals to the extreme, Charley is amongst the chosen few tasked with exploring the boundaries, forcing him to look deep into his very being to discern right from wrong. But as he and his friends learn more about the frightening forces that threaten destruction both without and within the gates, Meritropolis reveals complexities they couldn’t possibly have bargained for…
BONUS Original Artwork – 17 original chapter illustrations that precede each of the 17 chapters: Bion (Bull-Lion), Scorpicon (Scorpion-Falcon), Chimpanzelle (Chimp-Gazelle), and more!
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | GoodReads

Excerpt:

Meritropolis – Joel Ohman
“Courtyard”
The crowd filling the courtyard massed on either side of the girl and her captors, a slow-motion whirling river of bodies, moving them along like so much flotsam, toward Commander Orson and the gates. Charley watched intently as each person in the crowd strained to get a glimpse of the little girl.
Charley had read books about hangings in the Old Days, where crowds had traveled from miles around to see, and even cheer at, the macabre deed performed, but this was different. There was no excitement, but there was also no undercurrent of disappointment, of sadness, or even of shame; it was business as usual. Someone had been sentenced to the gates and that someone just happened to be a scared little girl.
Each person in the crowd wanted a glimpse of the girl to see how she would react, to see if they recognized her, to see the pitifully low Score on her arm, and perhaps to verify that she deserved the gates, but there was no outrage, no demand for justice. The System had ordered her to the gates, so it must be just. Charley thought about Sven’s statement: “I’m sure it gets easier” and considered that, maybe, if you see something often enough and put up with it for long enough, even the most horrendous deed can become part of your daily life. Maybe you just stop caring.
Was this how the crowd had reacted when Alec was put outside of the gates? Charley wondered. As the younger sibling of Alec, only eight, and presumably unable to take in what was happening, Charley had been confined underground during Alec’s gate ceremony—they had simply replaced Alec by assigning someone new to sleep in his bed that exact night. Had some of the very same people around him now looked at Alec with the same sick feeling in their stomachs that Charley now felt? Had they remained silent, swallowing their shouts, averting their eyes, and now, after many such acts of cowardice, they no longer even cared? Bile rose in Charley’s throat. He wanted—he needed—to care, to hate those who had taken Alec from him. It was all he had.
Charley watched the gloved hands of the guards on either side of the girl squeeze her pale, stick-like upper arms, roughly pressing her forward, just a few short steps in front of Charley. She faltered, stumbling as the toe of her slippered foot caught on the edge of a cobblestone, bending her foot back and causing her to let out a sharp cry of pain. One of the guards on the outer edge, a redheaded Blue Coat with a bristly goatee and arms knotted with thick cords of muscle, gave a muffled curse and dropped back behind her, harshly shoving her onward.
Her cry ignited some primal part of Charley’s brain: pure emotion, cause and effect. Synapses fired, rage blossomed. To act was to live, as natural a part of living as breathing. There was no fight or flight, only fight.
In an instant, Charley launched himself at the guards, eyes glazing over, an answering cry rising unbidden from his lips. His limbs pistoning as if controlled by an unseen puppet master; marionetting in time to the inner drum beat of angry energy. There was no plan, no strategy, no thinking ahead to plot out actions and counteractions. There was only the ever-present NOW. 


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About the Author

Joel Ohman is the author of Meritropolis–“The Hunger Games meets The Village with a young Jack Reacher as a protagonist”. He lives in Tampa, FL with his wife Angela and their three kids. His writing companion is Caesar, a slightly overweight Bull Mastiff who loves to eat the tops off of strawberries.

Giveaway Details

There is a tour wide giveaway. Prizes include the following:
  • $50 Amazon gift card (INT)
  • 3 x Stuffed Animals (US)

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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My Review

If you know me, you know that I love stories about freedom. 1984 is probably my favorite book. So when I read a new dystopian story, I have high expectations. There were things about this book I enjoyed and things I would like to see improved.

First, the good. I love the concept of the society: each person is assigned a number (that is subject to change), indicating how useful he or she is compared to society. I love reading about the theme of the individual being forced to submit his will to the “greater good.” This brings out the best in a protagonist as he is pushed to fight for justice, as Charley does in Meritropolis. I enjoyed the concept of the world–a post-“event” landscape in which society is kept safe within a wall (this aspect first reminded me of The Handmaiden’s Tale, and I was curious to see what was kept beyond the wall). Turns out, there are all kinds of weird hybrid creatures out there. Each chapter is divided with an illustration of some kind of hybrid–mostly terrifying creatures that Charley has to fight during the course of the story. I especially liked the moments when the author spent time and depth on moments of “human interest,” such as the time when Charley’s disabled brother had been forced beyond the wall because his score was too low, or when Charley decided to stand up for a young girl whose score fell too low after an illness. Charley’s questioning of the “system” in place is hauntingly reminiscent of what must have happened during the Nazi era and any time period during which a dictator is able to impose his will to be carried out by otherwise-good people. I wanted to see this passion flourish throughout the novel–that question of good men standing up to wrong and in so uniting, defeating evil.

While I liked the concept behind the story, there were two things I wish had been done more effectively: point of view and the balance of showing vs. telling. I felt that the point of view used never really got deep enough into any of the characters. I found myself craving more information about Charley–but not just factual information. I craved emotional information. I wanted to experience what Charley felt. The shallow point of view made me feel distanced from the characters, like I didn’t really know them. The other element, over-explaining, left me impatiently speed-reading through certain scenes. I like being shown images and emotions and being left to come to conclusions on my own. When I’m being told what a character is thinking, or the reason behind an action, the tone becomes slightly too dogmatic for me. At times, the novel relied too heavily on telling rather than showing.

Don’t get me wrong: the book definitely has moments, and I found myself relaxing on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and indulging in the chapters. But it was just missing that omph factor that so many of the classics have. It ended on a cliffhanger following a major battle, definitely leaving it open for a sequel. While I understand the importance of leaving it on a cliffhanger, I miss the satisfaction of having a story come full circle, able to stand on its own regardless of what follows.

Enjoying my first bagel since August (green for St. Patrick's Day) after running my first 5K since 2010.

Enjoying my first bagel since August (green for St. Patrick’s Day) after running my first 5K since 2010.

Recently, a decade after an ACL tear and a related slope into weight gain, I’ve started running again. A few weeks ago, I ran a 5K. I was thrilled to run a time that my high school self would have scoffed at. But I was thrilled nonetheless. See, I was a crazy-motivated runner in high school, and I ran my first year of college before I stepped down. I was so passionate about running that it threatened to consume me. I stepped down to save some passion to pursue other interests.

But here’s what I love about running. Running is an individual struggle against one’s greatest challenger: oneself. The best feeling when running a race isn’t necessarily winning a medal—but beating one’s previous achievement, a “personal best.” Indeed, the race I remember best from high school wasn’t a race I medaled in; it was a race during which I ran a personal best and broke a school record.

Some people are perplexed by runners. By definition, if you run a personal best during a given race, you are pushing harder than you’ve ever pushed before. This means the race is going to hurt. The whole time.

So why on earth would anyone willingly run a race? Why subject oneself to thirty minutes (or more) of pure physical exertion?

Here’s the answer I love: because we can.

We are human. Our time is limited. We’re given muscles and brains and lungs and bodies more complicated than anything we’ve ever built. And we’re given the free will to see what we can do with them. To test our limits. To be able to leave some type of legacy that reminds others that we were here.

Running that 5K, I saw overweight people pushing themselves to their limits. I saw elderly veterans pushing themselves through the cold downpour. I saw thousands of people awake early on a cold, rainy Saturday morning, all excited to push themselves. We finished the race soaked to the bone, and we were all thrilled. Right after I wrote this post, I read this inspiring story of a woman who lost 200 pounds and then ran a 10K. When she got sick at the end, one of the police officers helping to patrol the race helped her cross the finish line. There’s just something about the human spirit not wanting to give up that helps unite us across all kinds of lines.

Our time is limited, but as the poet Dylan Thomas urges us, “Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” Don’t wait until the prospect or threat of death enters your horizon. Live now. Go for a run. Build something. Read a book. Heck, write a book. Call someone you love. Put down your phone. Think.

I love running 5Ks because the runners gathered hail from all walks of life and all fitness levels. But they are all united in their passion. They are here, they are determined, they are given this day, and they are going to run.

Because they’re human. And because they can.

And that’s as good a reason as there ever was.

Welcome to the Spot Writers. The prompt for this month is to write a scene involving the moon. Today’s contribution comes from Cathy MacKenzie. She welcomes you to visit her website at www.writingwicket.wordpress.com

Fly With Me

by Cathy MacKenzie

 

Geraldine glanced around the room before listening at the door. Not hearing anything, she opened the window and inserted the nail file against the edge of the screen. She had tried previously to remove the screen to no avail though she had managed to loosen it from the frame. After several thrusts, the screen moved enough that she could curl her fingers around it.

“Drat,” she mumbled, when she yanked too hard and the screen ricocheted into the air. She stuck her head out the third-floor window. The screen was nowhere in sight, not that she’d be able to retrieve it if she did see it.

Seconds after she had straightened up, Alice entered the room. “Geraldine, close that window. Now!”

Geraldine bit her lower lip, revealing yellowed crooked teeth that complemented the once-white frayed collar of her dress. “I need to see,” she finally said. “It’s so beautiful out there. The stars. And the man in the moon peering down, watching, seeing. Do you know that he’s a nice man, that man in the moon? He’s very handsome.”

The older woman waited for Alice to yell again. Instead, Alice’s voice remained calm. “It’s not dark yet. You can’t see the stars or the moon.”

Geraldine scratched her nose and puckered her mouth into a perfect circle. “Oooh, I don’t mean now. I mean other nights, when it is dark and you can see night things.” She lowered her voice. “The sky is so peaceful, not like here.”

Alice rolled her eyes and grunted. “It could be peaceful here if you’d all behave. Come on, you’re late for dinner.”

When Geraldine didn’t move, Alice grasped the other woman’s arm. “That’s a good girl. Come along.”

Geraldine took two small steps and stopped. She looked back at the window where the flowered curtains swayed. Though the evening was warm, she shivered.

Alice glared. “You can’t be cold. It’s hot and stuffy in here.”

Geraldine scanned the woman’s face. Was she making fun of her, laughing at her?

“Don’t shiver if you’re not cold. It makes you look crazier than you are.”

“Crazy like this?” Geraldine inserted her index fingers into her mouth and stretched her mouth toward her ears. She stuck out her tongue and waggled it at Alice, just as Alice waggled fingers at her.

Alice ignored the antics and yanked her arm. “Come on down for dinner.”

Geraldine sighed and followed Alice to the dining room. After sitting at the table for several minutes, she feigned illness and returned to her room. She was thankful Alice had forgotten about the open window, for Geraldine would incur the caregiver’s wrath had she noticed the missing screen.

After bedtime rounds, Geraldine slipped from bed and stared into the darkness. She watched the sparkling stars, wondering if she should make a wish. The moon stared back. She smiled and patted her growling stomach. Though she was hungry, she had done the right thing by not eating. “Yes, I did,” she mumbled. “I surely did.”

Geraldine had suffered eating disorders in the past. Recently, she had decided she’d love to fly but knew she was too heavy and lumpy. By not eating dinner, she had morphed into a svelte and beautiful woman, and for the first time, she had a man swooning after her. Warmth spread through her veins when the man in the moon twinkled as if he had stars for eyes.

She would soon meet her prospective lover. And fly!

The breeze still jostled the curtains and blew the fabric across her arm. She stuck her head out the window, hoping again to locate the screen, but realized it was futile in the dark.

“No matter,” she said. “They’ll find it when they mow the grass.”

Pressing her dress against her leg, she contemplated changing into her favourite polyester slacks, until she realized the dress would aid flight. She pushed the wooden chair to the window. As were all windows on the second and third floors, the narrow window stretched tall, like a headstone reaching to heaven. In the daylight, the glass shimmered in the sun; when darkness fell, night lights peeped from several windows, camouflaging lives existing behind hollow shadows.

She climbed onto the wider-than-normal ledge, which was a feat at her fifty-nine years, and almost toppled trying to swing her leg up and over. She steadied herself by grabbing the window jamb. Once the other leg dangled over the ledge, she searched the sky. Stars beckoned. The moon gazed.

Geraldine pictured herself soaring through the air, her arms outstretched like wings; her stiff legs would mimic an airplane’s tail, while her billowing grey dress would resemble the hulky hull. She smiled at the image and even felt the winds caressing her like a silk glove.

Geraldine managed to stand on the ledge though she had to stoop a few inches. Leaning against the window frame, she felt safe. She waved at the moon, certain she saw lust in his eyes. And a bold voice whispered in her ears, I want you…

She contemplated taking off, soaring like an eagle up to the moon. He’d be so happy to see her, and they’d live happily ever after. She’d succeed in flight, unlike those poor victims of the Twin Towers on 9-11 who had failed when they flapped their arms.

The sudden rush of air bombarded her before she realized she had fallen. Even had she wanted to flap her arms, there was no time. She hit the ground within seconds but not before glimpsing the missing window screen wedged between low-lying branches.

 

***

The Spot Writers–our members:

 

RC Bonitz

http://www.rcbonitz.com

 

Val Muller

https://valmuller.com/blog/

 

Catherine A. MacKenzie

https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

 

Kathy Price

http://www.kathylprice.com

Today I’m taking part in a book tour for The Lightbound Saga by S. G. Basu. I signed up because the premise for the book intrigued me. The tour includes an excerpt and overview, directly below, and my review, which follows.

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About the Book

The chance of living the life of a regular thirteen year old was never hers, Maia knows that much. Her dead mother is an alleged turncoat; her people are practically slaves to the Xifarians-a race of ruthless, space travelers; her planet is near extinction. Maia keeps hoping, however. Of evading the Xifarians and of someday atoning for the sins of her mother. Maia has learnt to be careful, she is cautious. Until the day she gives in to the charms of a gypsy boy and the allure of flying his glider. And then, all Maia’s plans fall apart.

Spotted by Xifarian scouts, Maia is recruited into a dubious peace initiative. She had never considered visiting the galaxy roving planet-spaceship of Xif; she had never imagined meeting or befriending a Jjord – the reclusive people from the under-ocean colonies. But all that is about to happen, and Maia’s life is about to change forever . . .

Maia and the Xifarian Conspiracy is a daring space adventure and a coming-of-age story. It is a riveting tale in which the young hero’s journey of self-discovery parallels the timeless search for friendship, knowledge, and truth.

Excerpt

Excerpt from The Lightbound Saga by S.G. Basu:

 Carefully, she opened the small lid, slipped her hand cautiously inside, and reached for the crystal. A flash of light followed by a searing pain that shot through her arm stunned Maia for a moment. Blinking rapidly, she focused her eyes and screamed. The L’miere crystal had vanished. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the moss where the crystal had lain just moments ago. Maia pulled out her hand and shook the pod, hoping that she had maybe . . . somehow . . . just maybe . . . pushed it into a crevice or something. But the pod remained empty; only the lava rock sat on its mossy bed, in blissful ignorance.

 

Ren would know.

 

She ran out of the room, up the staircase toward the Snoso, and smack dab into the middle of a portly frame. Maia would have gone flying and crashed into the wall had it not been for the hands that gripped her firmly by the shoulders.

 

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my old friend Maia,” the voice of Principal Pomewege bellowed. “And what is the rush, child?”

 

Maia started to murmur an apology. She must have not made much sense, because the principal interrupted her midway.

 

“Is something wrong?” His eyes shone with concern.

 

Everything is wrong.
“Nothing, sir,” she lied.

 

“Well, you seem to be in a hurry, so I won’t keep you.” Pomewege smiled. “But if there is anything I can help you with, just let me know.”

 

He turned away, and Maia took a few steps before she rushed back toward the principal. “Principal Pomewege, I think . . . I . . . I destroyed something,” she stammered.

JGBS_Logo[1]My Review

This is a well-written book that a YA, sci-fi fan would enjoy. In some ways, it reminded me of Harry Potter, only with science instead of magic. When Maia arrives on Xif, she is put into a team. Her team competes with others for the chance to stay for the “peace initiative” program. I liked the emphasis on science and engineering in this book, but there’s also elements that seem more magical, like telekinesis. The interplay between characters was entertaining, too. There’s a slowly-building sinister undertone about the true nature of the program, and Maia constantly questions the role of her birth mother in all this.

My one wish for this book is that the point of view had been a bit deeper into Maia’s head. At times I felt too distanced from her. I want to be connected to characters the way I felt connected to Triss in Divergent, for instance. Still, it was an enjoyable read, and I love the female-in-science emphasis as well as the elements of Xif.

 

Should we live for ourselves, or should we live for others? Religions and philosophers have been mulling over this question for centuries. I’ve always tended to agree with Ayn Rand and her school of thought—that we must find what makes us each happy, rather than live solely for others or doing solely what we’re told is the right thing to do.

In fact, I’ve read many surveys and studies that attempt to discover what would make people happier—fulfillment, or money. In all cases, the majority of people answered that it was fulfillment, not money, that would bring them happiness in life. I was skeptical at first—after all, how many of us could find fulfillment in money?!—until I looked at the questions for myself. And being honest with myself, fulfillment does matter to me more than money.

So while I do live my life for myself—seeking truth through writing and sharing the writing and thinking process with others, I find that altruism and helping others often does bring happiness.

Not always, but often enough.

It’s college decision season, and many of the seniors I teach are starting to hear back from the schools to which they’ve applied. Many of them consulted me about their college entrance essays. These personal essays are difficult to write: when writing about oneself, it’s easy to lose perspective. Sometimes all it takes is a neutral party to assess the essay and determine where it has veered off course. When the students approached me with their essays, I spent about five minutes providing verbal feedback on the essays. It was no big deal to me. In fact, I had quite forgotten about it.

But recently, several students have come to me, smiles plastered on their faces and eyes tearful, with genuine thanks for the help—informing me that they were admitted to the college of their choice. While of course it was their hard work over the last twelve years that got them in, it’s nice to be reminded sometimes that even spending five minutes helping someone else can have a life-long impact on them.

With our world of technology causing (physical) social isolation and conditioning us to expect instant gratification, it’s nice to be reminded sometimes that we all matter to each other. And sometimes the smallest act of kindness can have the biggest impact—even if we never find out about it.

It makes me wonder: as clichéd as it sounds, I’ll bet if we all performed just one act of kindness a day, the happiness we spread could be exponential. We may never know about it personally, but the world will certainly be a better place for it.

 

Welcome to the Spot Writers. The prompt for this month is to write a scene involving the moon. Today’s contribution comes from Val Muller, author of The Scarred Letter, a YA reboot of Hawthorne’s original. Val’s distaste for winter sits somewhere along the spectrum between Seasonal Affective Disorder and Jack Torrance (the writer from The Shining).

Almost

Val Muller

The winter was long, and that stupid groundhog had seen his shadow. Or was it a her, now? Melody couldn’t remember. The groundhog wasn’t the original one—she knew that much. The old one had died. Or maybe someone had killed it.

Someone wishing for spring.

Last weekend had been so close—the hot sun took inches off of the snow, compacting it and drying the pavement. But still it lingered, that blindingly white frozen hell. At night, it gave off a chill the way a fireplace gives off heat, robbing the earth of its warmth. It was like The Blob—if it touched you, it took away all your heat, leaving you cold and lifeless, shrouded under a blanket on the couch.

It would never let you pack up your sweaters or your wool socks. It threatened to return if you were brazen enough to put out the lawn decorations, or set up the chairs around the table on the deck.

After a tauntingly warm weekend, winter returned on the wind. The snow re-froze. It was now so hard and cold, one could walk on it without falling through—or rather, one could slip on it. Last week’s melt had left it covered in a frozen sheen, compounded by the freezing rain on Tuesday night. Everything was glazed, preserved, in ice. And it hadn’t melted in days.

But Melody didn’t want to go skating. She wanted to garden. To cut the lawn. To go running without sliding on an ice patch or stepping through a puddle of melted chemicals. She wanted the beach.

“That’s it,” she wrote on Facebook one night. “I’m not going out again until spring returns.”

“What about your job?” asked her friends.

“You need groceries,” they said.

“I need the ocean.” And that was her last comment.

“Mel, you there?” they asked.

“Mel, text me.”

“We’re worried.”

But she was already signed off, hidden beneath a blanket, reading a cheap romance novel about a girl and two guys somewhere tropical. She stared at the eye candy on the cover for hours, coveting the way the palm trees bent in the sun, the way the tropical drinks melted in the hands of the supermodels. She coveted the sweat that glistened on their bodies, the way the sun bronzed their skin. She wanted that weather—now.

That night, there was a knock on her door. She awoke from under the covers and checked the clock, perplexed. Though the house was dark, the glow coming from the window gave off the luster of midday to the objects in her room.

“What time is it?” she asked herself.

A glimpse at her watch told her it was approaching midnight. Late for a work night, but this was Friday. A livelier, happier, spring-summer-fall version of her probably wouldn’t even be home yet. Pathetic. Winter had turned her into an anti-social sleeper.

But then, the knocking again. That’s right—someone had woken her up. Who in the world would be knocking at midnight? A glance out the window showed several cars and—was that a tent in the driveway?

Concern jolted adrenaline, and she grabbed a baseball bat and a phone.

“Who’s there?” she called at the front door, glancing through the peephole.

There, standing on her porch, were several of her friends—Rob, Christine, Dani, and Pete.

She tossed the baseball bat and opened the door. “What the hell, guys?”

“We brought you the ocean,” Pete said.

“What?”

She looked at her coworker. He’d always been overly kind to her. He definitely had a crush but was always too dignified to say anything—probably afraid of the company policy about dating coworkers. But his smile now was undeniable. Pete grabbed her hand and pulled her down the concrete steps to the front yard. There was a beach tent set up on the driveway, and behind it, a small campfire roared in a brand-new portable metal firepit (Mel’s was still buried under inches of icy snow).

“We brought you the ocean,” Pete said again. He pointed to the full moon rising over the field in front of Mel’s house. Against the icy snow, the reflecting moon did look like it was rising over the ocean—almost.

It was hard to dismiss the fact that the rippled ice was frozen in place—unlike the fluid motion of the waves.

Still, it was a beautiful sight, and Mel stared at it for a moment. Then she realized she wasn’t wearing a jacket.

“Here,” Pete said, slinging a blanket over her shoulders. No, it wasn’t a blanket—it was a beach towel.

“We’ve got a cooler and everything.”

Mel turned to see that Alex was there, too. He’d pulled open a package of hot dogs and was skewering them over the fire. Christine opened the cooler and cracked open a beer. Mel smirked to think that the cooler was probably actually warmer than the air right then.

The beach tent they’d erected was stuffed with sleeping bags and comforters, and Dani, dressed in her warmest winter gear, was stretched out with her hands behind her head. If it weren’t for the layers of warmth, she’d almost look like she was sunbathing. Moonbathing, rather.

“We thought we’d miss you too much if you didn’t come out until spring. So we thought we’d bring the ocean to you.”

Pete stood behind her, putting his arms around her waist. His breath felt warm against her cheek, coming from his mouth in warm puffs.

“What do you say? Feel like partying a little?”

She turned to take in the scene: the magical, frozen “oceanscape” of the glistening snow on the field, the beach tent, the towel, the cooking hotdogs already spitting on the fire. It was magical, alright, and she had great friends.

But it was still winter out, and it was damn cold.

“Sorry, guys,” she said. “This is nice, but I need the real deal. You’re all welcome to stay, but as for me—I’m going inside to hide under a blanket. And I’m not coming out until spring!”

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

I’m thankful that I don’t live in New England anymore–I’m not sure I could have handled all the snow they endured this winter. But growing up in Connecticut, I remember (sometimes in April) feeling like the snow was never going away. I could seriously picture June arriving with piles of snow still melting everywhere. Of course that never happened, but it’s easy when in the worst of things to picture them as permanent.

Today, for this Fantastic Friday posting, I’m sharing pictures of melting snow and sending to you all the positive connotations therein implied: nutrition for flowers, budding trees, tweeting birds, sun-kissed skin… and a gentle reminder that there is always something positive, something hopeful, that comes even from the more dire situation. Life is a cycle, and the theme of rebirth and inter-connectedness is constant. For me, nature is always a reminder of that, and I find peace being outdoors.

So here you are, your Friday treat, melting snow:

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The sun is strong.

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Here I am "killing snow," as I call it--throwing it on warm pavement.

Here I am “killing snow,” as I call it–throwing it on warm pavement.

 

Drip, drip, drip. Nothing sounds more satisfying!

Drip, drip, drip. Nothing sounds more satisfying!

And a little fun :)

And a little fun 🙂

Welcome to the Spot Writers. The prompt for this month is to write a scene involving the moon. 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.

 

Moonlight on the Bay

by RC Bonitz

 

Maggie couldn’t sleep. Moonlight streamed into her room, stirring her imagination. Luke was right out there in the harbor, probably fast asleep on that boat of his, oblivious to the lush warmth of the star filled night. Well, she’d diddled around long enough, protecting her virtue, guarding her psyche from the possible wounds of betrayed love. Her psyche could stay in bed; she was going out to Luke’s boat. Let the chips fall where they may. She giggled. Wouldn’t he be surprised.

 

Down to the dock she went, dragged a marina dinghy from the rack, and shoved it in the water. Snagging a pair of paddles, she climbed aboard and set out across the tiny harbor.

 

The moon was a silver orb on the horizon, silhouetting the anchored boats in dark shadow against the gray sky. Calm wind and a glassy sea made for easy progress as she rowed and she eased her pace, trying instead for a stealthy approach. If she wanted to see total surprise on his face quiet had to be her modus operandi.

 

What was that? A splash? Probably a fish jumping. She kept rowing. Another splash, another fish? Luke would love to be out here with his fishing rod. He’d be happily hauling them in tonight. Maybe she’d tell him about the fish. Later, afterwards. She leaned back, drew in a deep breath, and chuckled. Luke was a delicious man, oh yes. A great guy, but he could be bit more pushy about sex. Well, after tonight maybe he’d be more sure of her reactions. Would he ever. A frisson of excitement ran up her back. She rowed harder.

 

Thump. Her dinghy stopped dead in the water. What had she run into out here in the middle of the harbor?

“What the devil?” a muffled voice said.

A familiar voice? Next to her in the shadows? She reached out to the side and touched rubber. An inflatable dinghy?

“Luke?”

“Maggie? I was on my way to see you.”

“You were?”

He laughed softly. “Looks like great minds and all of that.”

“The moonlight, it—”

“I know,” he murmured. “I feel it too.”

She took a deep breath. “Should we?”

He reached out and squeezed her hand. “Like I said. Great minds and all that.”

 

 

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

 

I can’t remember who recommended this book to me, but she (or he) was right: I enjoyed it. This young adult horror novel follows a teenager named Cas as he travels across the country slaying ghosts. He follows his contacts and leads to find ghosts that are actively killing living humans, and he uses a special knife to vanquish them, sending them to—well, wherever they are supposed to go next. Cas is following the path taken by his father, who was recently killed by a ghost or demon in Louisiana. Now, Cas and his mother (a “white witch”) head up north to take on a particularly troublesome ghost referred to as Anna Dressed in Blood.

All that is known about her is that she was killed the night of a dance about sixty years ago. Her throat was cut from ear to ear, and her white dress is now all bloody. She has been responsible for many murders, most of them classified as missing persons cases.

Cas is used to slaying ghosts, but he knows there’s something special about Anna. As he delves into her story, he learns he is correct: Anna’s case is a unique one. In fact, he finds himself liking Anna, even caring about her, and before long he doesn’t want to slay her.

I won’t give away any more of the book. I enjoyed the use of first-person, present tense. It fit the story well. I don’t always enjoy present tense, but in this case, it worked. Cas was a likeable character but not perfect. Since he travels around every few months/years, he never settles down into any high school, so he’s always doing things like cutting class or skipping school. His language is rough but not over-the-top. Some of the language is left for the reader to imagine, which I felt was appropriate. Sometimes books with excessive profanities turn me off (even though I teach in a high school and know how kids sound!). The characters Cas interacts with were all interesting, some easily hate-able.

The book is a little over 300 pages, but I devoured most of it during a single snow day. It’s a fast read for anyone who enjoys young adult and horror.

March is one of those months that contains three seasons of the year in one week. For those of us eager for spring, it can be a frustrating time. So for today’s Fantastic Friday post, I thought I’d share insight from my dogs. Dogs have it right. They don’t dwell on what they don’t have; they relish in what they do. So live life like a dog.

Love every moment of life.

Sometimes all I need to do to smile is watch my dogs. In fact, one of my favorite poems is “Golden Retrievals” by Mark Doty. It’s a poem about how dogs bring us out of our human “funks” and help us enjoy each magical moment life has to offer. So today, I’m sharing a few magical moments with my corgis.

Here is Leia “frapping” in the snow instead of being grumpy about how much has fallen:

 

Nothing's as awesome as rubbing your head through tunnels of freshly-fallen snow.

Nothing’s as awesome as rubbing your head through tunnels of freshly-fallen snow.

 

And if every-day chores like brushing your teeth have got you down, simply make wacky faces, and it suddenly doesn’t seem as bad:

 

IMG_4600

What can be better than turkey-flavored toothpaste?

 

Winter doldrums still got you down? Try a little cross-country skiing:

 

running-corgis

Those smiles, though!

 

And if that’s too much exercise, try doing it the corgi way:

 

tiring-corgi-exercise

 

Because when you live life like a dog, there’s never a wrong time to take a little nap:

 

20150226_204949

Being a cute, happy dog is sooooo tiring sometimes!

 

As part of the Corgi Community, I see friends posting about the passing of their dogs, and the most common theme is not regret at having lost their dog but joy in all the memories they were able to build. Dogs truly do live in the moment, and while as humans we cannot always ignore the past or the future, sometimes it’s beneficial simply to enjoy what we have and be thankful for those magical moments.