Everything's Jake: A Preview of Bedtime Stories for Grown-Ups by Andrew Joyce

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Hello, my name is Andrew Joyce. I have a new book out entitled Bedtime Stories for Grown-Ups. It came about because my editor hounded me for two years to put all my short stories into one collection. Actually, it was supposed to be a two-volume set because there was so much material. I fended her off for as long as possible. I didn't want to do the work of editing all the stories. There were a lot of them. But she finally wore me down. Instead of tow volumes, I put all the stories into a single book because I wanted to get the whole things over with. I had other books to write!

Bedtime Stories is made up of fiction and nonfiction stories and some of 'em are about my criminal youth. I must tell you, I never though any of these stories would see the light of day. I wrote them for myself and them forgot about them. By the way, there are all sort of genres within its pages, from westerns to detective stories to love stories, an just about anything else that you can imagine.

There are a whole lotta stories in the book---700 pages worth. Enough to keep you reading for the forseeable future.

Anyway, Here's on the the shorter fiction stories from the book.

Everything's Jake


It was early in the morning when the man rode into town from the east, the sun at his back, his long shadow before him. The street was deserted except for an old mongrel dog sniffing its way home after a long night’s prowl.
He proceeded on the main thoroughfare—the town’s only thoroughfare—until he came abreast of the Blue Moon Café with its “WE NEVER CLOSE” sign hanging from the ramada. Spurring his horse over to the hitching post outside the café, he dismounted and entered the establishment.
At that time in the morning, the chairs were on the tables, and the only occupants were a boy sweeping the floor and a disheveled, overweight man behind the bar wiping a glass with a dirty rag. The barkeep watched the stranger approach.
“How ’bout some whiskey?” said the stranger.
When the barman was slow in responding, the man grabbed his collar, pulled him down until he was bent over the bar and their eyes were staring into each other’s.
“I said whiskey,” growled the stranger.
“Yes sir, right away,” was the barkeep’s quick response.
When released, with a shaking hand he placed the glass he had been wiping on the bar, grabbed a bottle from beneath the counter, and poured a liberal amount of an amber liquid into it.
As he started to re-cork the bottle, he was told to leave it.
“Yes sir.”
Turning his back to the bar and placing his elbows thereon, he called to the youth doing the sweeping.
“Hey you, boy, come over here.”
Placing his broom against the nearest table, the boy did as he was bid.
“You got a name, son?”
“Yes sir. It’s Billy.”
“Well, Billy, do you know a man by the name of Jake Tapper?”
“Yes sir.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
“Yes sir.”
Reaching into his vest pocket, the man withdrew a silver dollar and flicked it in the boy’s direction. “You go tell Jake that Mac’s in town.”
• • • • •
Jake lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. It was much too early to be awake, but since she left, he’d found it hard to sleep. It had been a heady eight months. He had never loved a woman as he had loved Jeanie. Sure, it was taking a chance messing with Mac Conway’s woman, but it had been worth it. Now that she had run off with that piano player from the Blue Moon, he thought he’d just stop running from Mac. Might as well get it over with, thought Jake.
Then there was a knock at his door. “Yes, who is it?”
“It’s me, Mister Tapper. Billy Doyle.”
“Whatcha want, Billy?”
“A man down to the Blue Moon told me to tell you that Mac is in town. I think he wants to talk to you.”
“Alright, Billy. You tell him I’ll be right there.”
Jake packed his few belongings and left the room. Instead of going to the Blue Moon, he went to the livery stable and saddled his horse. Then he mounted and headed out of town as fast as the beast could carry him.
It is one thing to think brave thoughts in the seclusion of your room, but it’s another thing to face Mac Conway in a saloon. Hell, it ain’t healthy to face off with Mac anywhere. Now that Jeanie’s gone, there’s no reason to git myself killed.
The next day Mac caught up with Jake, and then went looking for Jeanie.

To purchase a copy of Bedtime Stories for Grown-Ups, visit Amazon and Andrew's website. 



Deep Freeze by John Sandford

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"Same old Flowers shit. You gotta ride with it."

For years, my favorite literary crime hero was James Patterson's Alex Cross. While I still faithfully read the Cross series, John Sandford's Virgil Flowers has recently ascended to the top spot. There's something about his eccentric investigative antics and never wavering moral compass that makes Flowers a must read. Like any long-running series, Virgil Flowers has had his highs and lows. The last two novels, both focusing largely on finding missing animals, have been true to form. Beyond his usual case studies, Flowers was allowed to truly evolve as a character in new and exciting ways. With Deep Freeze, the tenth installment in this series, John Sandford attempts to take his character to new heights by returning to a familiar setting.

The rough and tumble lady's man Virgil Flowers has been steadily dating his girlfriend Frankie for the last several books. Seeing the way Frankie interacts with her sons has started to cause Virgil think about potentially being a father one day, a role the three time divorcee never imagined he would even consider. The couple's vacation is cut short when Virgil is called by the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension to travel to Trippton, Minnesota. Virgil has a troubled history with the small town. The last time he was there, he encountered a dog smuggling ring and a corrupt and murderous school board.

This trip sees Virgil investigating the murder of a local banker who was pulled from a frozen river by a local fisherman. She was last seen alive at her home where she hosted a meeting of several other townspeople. They were gathered to plan their 20th high school reunion. As Virgil begins to interview the attendees of that meeting, he begins to see that each of these people may have had some incentive to murder the victim. What is it with this small town?!

As if things weren't already complicated enough, Virgil also receives a request directly from the governor's office. Mattel, maker of Barbie, has commissioned a lawyer from LA to present a cease and desist to a local woman who has been buying, altering, and reselling the dolls. She adds voice boxes to the dolls that cause them to spew suggestive and highly off-brand sounds that Mattel is eager to see stop. The problem is, the this seemingly insignificant operation puts food on the table to many struggling families within the Trippton community. Citizens are less than eager to assist in this particular investigation.

In this tenth novel in the Virgil Flower series, John Sandford continues to develop his character in ways that make this long-running series seem as fresh as ever. Virgil seems to be more calculated in his approach to investigation and takes less risks than he did in earlier novels. This can probably attributed to his relationship with Frankie. There's a couple close calls in this book that have him pleading with police to not inform Frankie of what happened. His concern for her well-being has definitely shifted his actions. Still, he continues to have the quick wit and keen ability to read between the lines of the people he interviews. I always marvel at Sandfords ability to reveal a killer from the start of a book and still hold my attention and create suspense out of an investigation that I know the answer to. Deep Freeze is no different. It is the perfect display of Sandford's writing prowess and the wonderful character he has created. Bring on the next Virgil Flowers adventure!

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads.

(2017, 44)



Imagine Me Gone by Adam Haslett

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Mental illness can be a difficult topic to discuss. In his novel Imagine Me Gone, Adam Haslett attempts to grapple with the subject. He tells the story of a family who deals with the mental illness of their patriarch early on. When Margaret made the decision to marry John, she was aware of his depression. The novel follows the effects of John's struggles with depression and the way those difficulties impact his entire family.

Haslett provides insight into each member of the family's unique reaction to mental illness by having each chapter alternate perspective to that of a different character. This approach can be illuminating at times while creating a distance between reader and character at others. I found the chapters about the mother and sisters to be particularly effective. They attempt to create some kind of normalcy within a family that is riddled with the uncertainty that mental illness can bring.

Where the novel lost me was in the chapters of one brother in particular, Michael. Like his father, Michael suffers from mental illness that makes his chapters nearly impossible to comprehend. He has a particular obsession with music that was endearing at first. It was a way to form some kind of connection. Unfortunately, he seems to deteriorate over time, making his chapters more and more confusing and hard to connect with.

While I think this is an intentional tool for Haslett to demonstrate the troubled mind of a man with severe mental illness, it makes for a book that is often difficult to follow. I have a very mixed reaction to this book because of that. On the one hand, I appreciate how Haslett uses Michael to help the reader understand the other family member's challenge of dealing with a loved one with mental illness. On the other hand, these portions were so uncomfortable to read that I nearly stopped reading the book all together. Imagine Me Gone is as brilliantly conceived as it is frustrating to digest. I can appreciate why the book has been so acclaimed, but I really struggled to connect with it.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads.

(2017, 43)

Friday Flicks: American Assassin

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"You go down out there, you're a ghost. There's nobody, nobody coming back for you."

A couple months ago, I read American Assassin by the late author Vince Flynn. The origin story for his hero Mitch Rapp provided some solid back story to the CIA operative. Hollywood has been trying to bring the hero to the screen for years. By adapting this prequel novel and casting young Dylan O'Brien of Maze Runner fame as Rapp, filmmakers have set up this movie to serve as the first in a planned franchise based upon Flynn's novels.

The film opens with the gruesome scene of Mitch witnessing his fiance being murdered in cold blood during a terrorist attack on a beach. Driven by grief and an unyielding thirst for revenge, Rapp begins the process of infiltrating the terrorist group responsible for the attack. As a lone civilian in contact with some of the world's most wanted terrorists, he quickly catches the attention of the CIA. Deputy Director Irene Kennedy (Sanaa Lathan) takes a particular interest in Rapp. His personal drive, physical strength, and discreet investigative prowess could make him an ideal candidate for the agency's top secret Orion group.

Kennedy intervenes in Rapp's crazed mission to infiltrate the terrorist group and whisks him off to a remote cabin in the woods for training. Orion's operatives are trained and managed by Cold War veteran Stan Hurley (Michael Keaton). Hurley instantly dislikes Rapp and argues that he lacks both the experience and mental fortitude to join the team. Soon the CIA learns that an American born terrorist "Ghost" is planning to construct a nuclear weapon, Rapp and Hurley are forced to put their differences aside for the good of the country.

I have a mixed reaction to this film. Much of the action and acting comes off as very "by the numbers". It is easy to see where the story is going, and the movie offers little in terms of political commentary or innovation. Still, I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy myself. Michael Keaton shines as the ornery Hurley, reveling in every scene he's given. The arc of Rapp's character is much more developed and believable than it was in the novel, offering a true emotional payoff. O'Brien has the potential to grow into the role if another movie is made. A tease at the end of the film offers a tantalizing taste of things to come. While it never soars, American Assassin is still a solid action flick that marks a promising start to a potential franchise.


The Late Show by Michael Connelly

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As a lover of crime fiction and mysteries, it pains me to admit that I've never read a novel by acclaimed author Michael Connelly. My book blogging buddies have done their part to recommend his books, and I've enjoyed the Harry Bosch series from Amazon. Still, I've been hesitant to pick up one of his books. Starting an established series can be a daunting task, especially when I have so many other novels to read and review. This fall, however, the stars finally seemed to align. When his publisher offered me a copy of his latest novel, the start of a brand new character and series, I couldn't say no.

Renee Ballard is a veteran of the LAPD who spends her evenings working the Late Show. She hasn't always worked this overnight shift, but a sexual harassment complaint against another officer didn't quite go as planned. She's a woman in a male dominated profession working a shift that sees her hand off each case to her daytime colleagues. Ballard has mostly comes to terms with her new found work life. She dutifully files her reports each morning before finding some rest at home with her dog.

In a rare break from the monotony of her usual evenings, Ballard is hit with a double-whammy of crimes that she can't let go. The first involves the brutal beating of a transgender prostitute. The second is a shootout at a nightclub that left several people dead. Her superiors grant her the authority to investigate the the assault case, but are strangely secretive about the shootout. Rachel works well into the daytime hours on little sleep to get to the bottom of this horrific case. But how close can she get to the suspect without putting herself and her career at risk?

After reading The Late Show, I can now see why Michael Connelly's books are so highly regarded. He writes with a bare-bones urgency that keeps the pages turning and the suspense tightly wound. It did take me a while to start rooting for Ballard. Connelly's focus on advancing the plot made Ballard's development as a character take a back burner at first. As the novel and plot progress, we learn more about Ballard. By the climax of the novel, I felt like I was right there with her discovering all the shocking secrets and twists. Count me in as a fan of Michael Connelly who can't wait to see what he comes up with next!

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads.

(2017, 42)

Long Dead Beatniks: The New Pharaohs, A Guest Post by Daniel Falatko

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In the ancient Egyptian and Persian empires, Pharaohs and Kings remained fully worshiped for hundreds of years after their mortal bodies had perished. Massive cults would tend to their tombs, keeping the torches lit and the gardens lush. Festivals in their honor would occur regularly. New monuments would be erected. Thousands of bulls would be sacrificed. Fine wines and enough food to feed the populace would be laid out on the temple grounds to satiate the deceased Ruler in the afterlife. In their lifetimes these Pharaohs and Kings were seen as living Gods, and in their deaths they attained a level of eternal worship reserved for Saviors and those that have always existed beyond the mortal chains.

While this type of cult worship of deceased men has mostly died out in modern times, there is one glaring exception: Dead Beatniks.

How many books can there possibly be on the Beat Generation? 10,000? 87, 000? 1,00,011? It's hard to tell through traditional Amazon and Google searches due to the sheer immensity of the collected material on these dead literary icons. Just as an example, how many books on William S. Burroughs exist in the informational ether? An exact number is similarly hard to pinpoint, but at least 80 for sure. Keep in mind that dear old Willie wasn't anywhere near as mainstream as his handsome contemporary Jack Kerouac or that bearded jester Allen Ginsberg. So you can imagine how many weighty tomes have been dedicated to those two. When you add all of these printed pages to the dozens of professional and amateur documentaries on the Beats, the many yearly gatherings from large festivals to open mic poetry nights, the hundreds of web pages and message boards, and the long lineage of testimonials from artists both obscure and world famous, you can clearly see an ancient Pharaoh style centuries-long cult worship beginning to take shape.

So how long have some of these beatniks been dead? Winos never last long, so Kerouac has been amongst the dead for going on 50 years. The same goes for fringe characters who never strike it rich, so goodby to Neal Cassidy for around the same amount of time. Dear Old Junkie Uncle Bill has been gone since the 90s. The same for allen and his comb-over. These particular dead beatniks are certainly the titans of the scene, much to the consternation of the unfortunately still living Gary Snyder, who most likely regrets his years of mountain climbing and pure Buddhist health since they've allowed him to live in comparative obscurity while his contemporaries have died in worshipped glory.

When you factor in that the average ancient Pharaoh post-death cult lasted 300 years in the most extreme cases, you can see that the worship of dead beatniks has a very good chance of reaching this empirical level. Fifty years on and there seems to be at least a couple weighty biographies released on the Wino God and The Junkie God each year, and there appears to be no letup in the volume of events, festivals, think pieces, testimonials, and other modern style God offerings/sacrifices to these long dead Kings.

The curious and commendable aspect of this worship is its ability to find enough oxygen to exist in the suffocating atmosphere of today's ultra-politially-correct, language-and-thought policed, scorched earth landscape. This age is certainly not very forgiving to the arts. The increasing inability to separate the personal lives of artists and their works by large chunks of the populace should not be very kind to the beats, after all. In an age where John Lennon himself is seen as some sort of devil for the lone sin of having been a complicated person, then what about a gun toting, right wing, sex tourist old junkie? Or how about a NAMBLA-supporting, self-hating Jew? A child-abandoning dirty old man, anyone? How about a sexist conservative Catholic drunk who banged his friends' wives and died a deadbeat dad despite millions of paperbacks sold? Can the fact that these "problematic" aspects can continue to fly under the radar while the weight and impact of their artistic works are allowed to shine for themselves as they should be seen as an ancient-style reluctance to view once living Gods as being bound to the standards of the meek mortal masses? There may be a heat seeking missile of a think piece being cooked up as we speak in the Slate of HuffPo SJW basement, but until now it does look as if the dead beatnik Pharaohs, remarkably, have escaped the torches and pitchforks which have diminished the cults of other long dead Emperors and Kings.

Who would have ever thought that a ragtag and disparate band of 50's bebop-damaged jivesters who published between them a grand total of 3 (three) culturally-relevant works many decades past could somehow dodge and duck the pendulums of shifting modern cultures and tastes to ascend the gilded tombs of the Pharaohs, attended to by mass cults for what is starting to look like centuries to come? Keep in mind that these dudes were alive at a time when there was such a thing as a successful poet for chrissakes. The whole sixties thing that most people point to as the beginning of everything that is right and cool with the world hadn't even happened yet when these giants first walked the earth. And yet here they are poised to be the first set of cultural icons to match the cult worship endurance test of ancient times.

With the inevitable take-up from far-in-the-future generations eternally curious about dudes who took drugs and slept with lots of people, it really is beginning to look as if the dead beatniks, of all people, will be the New Pharaohs.

So lay your pottery at the foot of the stone steps and lead your bull to the alter. Place your fruit jugs of wine upon the massive pile. Dedicate 1/5 of your crop money to the erection of the new stone monuments. Hail the long dead beatnik Pharaohs and sacrifice you own well-being to assure that they are will nurtured and fully-equipped in the afterlife.

Or just crack open that beat-up paperback of Cities of The Red Night for the 27th time.

Daniel Fatalko's novel Travels and Travails of Small Minds is on sale October 2nd. He is the author of a previous novel, Condominium. He is a graduate of the MFA in Writing program at Vermont College of Fine Arts. He lives in New York City.




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