A classic horror novel made even better. Literate, dark humor peppers this popular tale of 60s hippies that has been selling since first published in 1992. Greater depth and additional twists add to the fun in this new author’s edition as ill-fated friends making their way between two oceans create their own ocean of blood. Literate, dark humor peppers this popular tale of READ MORE…
Nan has had to leave her peaceful home above what used to be the Arctic Circle for something extraordinarily old-fashioned: a physical meeting with someone in, of all places, a city. If she doesn’t contract a fatal disease first, she might just choke to death on the Rococo holography currently choking Manhattan. And why hasn’t she heard anything from her best friend, Trix? Must READ MORE…
Thanks to stellar advances in longevity, Earth is overrun by Baby Boomers well into their hundreds. Social Security being the stuff of history books, subsequent generations must find some way to put all those Boomers to good use…challenging since few have minds that have survived along with their bodies.But the silver lining is that few can complain about what some of those uses READ MORE…
Gorgeous, and born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth, Veronica Hamilton has never had to interrupt her dreamy sentimentality to question her cultural snobbery or even whether or not that diagnosis of Asperger’s was accurate. But that was before her fabulously wealthy CEO husband framed her for the murders he committed. Now she’s fleeing across READ MORE…
Carol Kirkpatrick, possibly the brightest writer I ever met in a writing group (proof positive being her ability to scribble out a pithy, brilliantly crafted story on the spot) had the additional charm of treating me to an oral history of Brooklyn whenever we walked its streets together. Combining warmth, depth, humor, and subtlety well into her 90s, she will always represent perfectly what I’d like to be when I grow up. My hope is to charm you with this sample of her writing:
Leo
A walk with Grandma. I’m pretty sure it was Grandma George, but even that detail is somewhat overshadowed by the memory of a majestic dog.
He was standing quietly in a small, gated front yard as Grandma and I stopped to admire him.
His silky fur was a brilliant burnt orange. His tongue was purple…a blue-violet huckleberry sort of color. Grandma and I were transfixed.
Almost seven decades later I was being prevailed upon to adopt the reincarnation of that long ago dog. This dog was also a Chow: nine years old, arthritic from having been hit by a car when he had been out roaming. Now the small rescue shelter was trying desperately to move Leo and its other dogs into homes before their eviction date.
How I longed to take Leo…who was being shown daily on Montague Street by one of the shelter workers.
But how could I?
