Other Indie - Early 2017 Read online

  Memoirs are difficult to review. Discussions of plot, character, development, and closure all go out the window immediately: life doesn’t have those things, although I will argue that it’s obvious that Tam took great pains in arranging the scenes and moments in such a way to best convey her message to the reader. What a memoir does have in common with other literary work is style, composition, and execution: all of which Tam has in excess. No scene or emotional event is given too much time, or too little. The exact right amount of gravity is put on each event in Barron’s illness and his family’s struggle, meaning that each note hits home perfectly. This book can be emotional, and I did become emotional reading it, but Tam never manipulates: she’s not presenting the world in a certain way to elicit an emotional reaction,  she’s presenting the world exactly as it is, and that in and of itself presents the reaction.

  It is at times uncomfortable, as Tam pulls no punches with regard to putting you right there in her living room while her father bore the brunt of this ravenous disease.

  In revisiting this wonderful book to write this article, I am at the very least filled with some measure of hope through the heartache presented here: in the years since the publication of A Daughter’s Gift, there have been great strides made in Alzheimer’s research. We now know about the musashi protein, a protein which actually causes memory erosion, proving that forgetting is an active process, rather than the lapse of an active process as we long thought. An active process can be thwarted, maybe.

  So there’s hope.

  What ‘bothered’ me about A Daughter’s Gift should be immediately apparent: the thought of losing my memories, and my sense of self, to something I can’t fight or control is immensely terrifying. Preserving those memories is what this book is all about. It’s on every page, in every line, and felt in every tear.

  This book is a must read for anyone who has been touched by Alzheimer’s disease or anyone who is in dire straits and needs to be reminded of the amazing nature of the human spirit. It is one of those books that, if you haven’t read it, you simply aren’t complete.

  I should also mention that a second book in Tam’s Standing Tall series, Twenty-One Days in May, was released two months ago. It deals with the death of Tam’s mother, Mary Louise Barron, after a twenty-one day battle with cancer.

  Both books are available in print and electronic formats from Iceberg Publishing by clicking either cover on this page. I encourage anyone and everyone to try these wonderful, emotional books and be all the better for the experience.

  Review: Damnation Code by William Massa

  Damnation Code is a 2015 supernatural thriller by screenwriter William Massa and produced by the intensely-successful small press publishing platform Critical Mass Publishing. It stars Mark Talon, a Delta Force Operator who has spent nearly a decade as a career soldier fighting America’s enemies abroad becoming entangled in the fight against a techno-savvy supernatural death cult after his reporter girlfriend is ritualistically murdered for getting too close to their operations. This book is the first in the Occult Assassin series, of which there are currently six titles (4 main entries and 2 side-books).

  This novel is the perfect blend of genre and off-genre elements that proves Massa is a gifted, intelligent author. He knows exactly how to manipulate the reader — in a good way — using the tropes and recognizable storytelling elements of familiar genres. That’s what nobody ever tells young writers: tropes aren’t a bad thing. Tropes are just elements that recur over and over again in a particular type of literature. As humans we’re very good at noticing these patterns, and using them to predict what will happen next. A smart author — like Massa — will use these tropes to subconsciously set up expectations in the reader’s mind, only to subvert them at a critical moment. And without digging too deep into spoilers, that’s what happens here.

  Part of what I think makes the independent market so great is that it much quicker adapting to — and subverting — the problems with genre. Because of turnaround time getting sales numbers back and quarterly market research, traditionally published books can take a long to pivot if the whims of readers change. They also tend to like things “in their box”: romance is romance, thrillers are thrillers, occult is occult, and never-shall-they-mix. Massa subverts all that in a way I often respect and have tried to emulate, taking a intensely supernatural story and first framing it in a natural, grounded world. And in doing so, he takes the groundedness of a contemporary war novel and mixes it with the thrills of a psychological and supernatural thriller, set in the three-act story structure of a classic superhero tale. It is these intricate, inter-woven mesh that makes Messa’s script unpredictable and exhilarating to read.

  By ‘superhero’ I don’t mean capes and cowls either. I don’t mean the aesthetic, I mean the formulae. Formulae, like trope, isn’t a bad thing if used creatively, and Massa’s mastery of structure undoubtedly comes from his his history as a screenwriter. Throughout the novel the well-versed eye can see the elements of graphic-novel style at play: the prose starts methodical and aggressively normal in the first chapter, hammering in the “realness” of the world so the reader is unprepared for the insanity that follows. We’re then introduced to a far-too-storybook romance with a perfect female lead, Michelle. After she’s taken, Talon slowly — over the course of this first adventure –accumulates his supporting cast: there’s his billionaire benefactor Casa, his tech-expert / Microchip / Moneypenny Becky, and his link to the police force, Serrone. All these elements are great. they are worked in organically. You can recognize them for what they are only after they are in place, never before, giving the reader multiple “oh I figured it out” moments as they go through the prose.

  In a lot of ways, Mark Talon owes a lot to The Punisher, and the mention of “Microchip” above was intentional in that regard. This book can be summed up — if need be — as “what if the Punisher’s family had been killed by Cultists, not by criminals?” The story they progresses from there as you would expect. In boiling it down to a simple analogy I feel as though I’m not giving Massa or Mark Talon their credit: this book is a thrilling read with an interesting — if not unfamiliar — premise. And let’s not forget, both Christopher Golden and Rick Remender have tried the ‘mystical Punisher’ trick before to lackluster results, so it’s to great credit that I say Massa has made this book one of my favorites I’ve read in 2016.

  I love taking the Freudian method of dream analysis and applying it to literature. Quick/Dirty rundown: you take the part of the book that bothered you the most, then spin the analysis so that that is what the book is about. At least, what it’s about for you.

  A few things early on competed — or at least, I thought they would compete — for the role of “what bothered me most” about Damnation Code, but what finally stood out is that one of the big action set-pieces of the novel took place in a heavily recognizable — and named — Apple Store.

  Now it’s not that there was a real-world product prominently featured that bothered me: longtime readers will know I’m a huge fan of K-Mart Realism. The choice to use the real Apple Store — and to call it the Apple Store, is a decidedly bold one. Most authors would have gone for those annoying slight alterations, calling it The Pear Store or something like that. Although the brand-name-recognition, and its repetition, is what made it stand out for me, I think what bothered me is what it must represent: in the novel, The Apple Store was used as the meeting place for the new-age techno death-cultists and their leader, Zagan. In picking that place — such a prominent, real-world location — for the meeting of a group of fanatically-obsessed followers paints a picture of what this novel is about: not one man versus the occult, but the old guard versus new-generation hipsters.

  There’s evidence to support this as well. On page 30, Talon experiences PTSD-like symptoms after the death of Michelle, while Zagan’s cultists are able to commit atrocious acts without such drawbacks: a metaphor for a more violently-jaded current generation, possibly. O
n page 68, Talon sees what he describes as his ‘worst fear’ come to bear: not that Michelle died, but that she died because of her job and he couldn’t protect her, pointing to a previous-generation family dynamic with the man as the protector, as well as hinting at a deep-seeded fear of women entering the workplace. And, perhaps most blatantly, on page 73 when Talon is told his coffee is $4.00 he thinks to himself: “What is happening to this country?”

  Evidence for the opposition regarding Zagan’s cult exists in plenty as well. There is the aforementioned Apple Store connection, but also the presence of tech-savvy elements from social media, binary tattoos, and Matrix references. All this adds up to a book that is, for me, about a morally-upright ‘Greatest Generation’ coming to odds (and to terms) with the rise of a new generation whose differences unsettle and scare him. Will his ideals survive? Well, that would be telling.

  Everyone needs to pick up Damnation Code. It is an amazingly well-written masterpiece of modern fiction, combining elements of everything that is hot in the market right now in a way that will make it still fresh and exciting twenty years from now. I’ll be picking up its sequel, Apocalypse Soldier, soon as well.

  Occult Assassin 1: Damnation Code is available now in print and eBook formats.

  Call of the Sea

  Amanda Labonté

  Chapter 1

  Come to me, she called, she called.

  Come to me my one, my only…

  The melody played at the edges of his consciousness. The gentle sound of woodwind instruments with the occasional infusion of something deeper, a low, sonorous percussion. He floated along on the feeling of a familiar dream — until it became louder, more pronounced, overpowering his other senses.

  Come to me my one, my only…

  Alex sat up in bed, his heart racing, and looked toward the open window. This was not how he’d envisioned his first night home after being away for almost a month. Knowing exactly where the sound was coming from and what he had to do, he ducked out from under the lower bunk and fumbled in the dark for a T-shirt. He pulled the stretch cotton over his head while sneaking into the hallway, making as little noise as possible so as not to wake the household.

  He paused halfway down the stairs as the wooden clock in the living room chimed the hour. One … two … three … four. Far too early to be up. Moving on, he used the light over the stove in the kitchen to find his sneakers and was almost to the back door when he heard Poppy muttering.

  Doubling back to the first floor bedroom, he listened outside the door and thought about checking on him but decided against it. Poppy frequently woke in the middle of the night, but he didn’t wander. Anyway, the music was getting louder, giving him a headache. He needed to get moving.

  He left through the back, careful not to let the screen door swing shut. The predawn air was pleasantly warm, and the walk would have been almost welcome if Alex wasn’t hearing a song to which everyone else remained deaf. He followed the driveway out onto the main road and down the hill that led to the beach path.

  Oddly, as he got closer, the music became softer, as though some cosmic power had been shouting for his attention, and now that he’d answered, it was all right for it to whisper. By the time his feet slid onto the beach rocks, the melody had blended so subtly with the sound of the waves that he might have imagined it.

  Except that if he turned back now, he knew it would start all over again.

  The tide was out, revealing the narrow strip of sandy beach that was actually a piece of the ocean floor. It made a path to the horned rock, nicknamed for the horn-like appendages that protruded from the ocean side of the boulder. The novelty of the rock was that when the tide was in it was surrounded by water, but when the tide was out it was completely accessible. The trick was not to get caught when the tide changed.

  He sank down on the strip of sand, facing the ocean, and felt the sense of relief that came with answering the music’s call. It was a clear night, and he could see the stars and the crescent moon. He took a deep, cleansing breath, tasting the salt air. The music had completely dissipated now, and it was easy to think that it had all been an illusion. Closing his eyes, he listened to the natural, rhythmic sound of the waves. He’d missed the ocean while he’d been away.

  He wasn’t sure what alerted him. He hadn’t felt or heard anything strange, but the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Slowly, he opened his eyes and scanned the beach. A shadow moved in his peripheral vision, and he looked toward the horned rock. Alex caught a glint of red in the moonlight, and his stomach dropped. She was there. He could feel her watching him.

  Though every instinct told him to run, he knew it would make no difference. He had to face her. The wet sand squished beneath his sneakers, making his feet damp, but Alex remained focused on the shadowy figure whose profile he was just starting to make out when a cloud passed over the moon and made it impossible to see.

  But he didn’t need to see her to feel her presence.

  Fighting the urge to bolt, he took one step back and waited.

  Silence.

  Finally, she spoke. The voice that haunted his dreams filled the night around him.

  “It’s time.”

  Alex froze in place. Even his breathing stopped. He wasn’t sure if he was too afraid to move, or if he simply couldn’t.

  The clouds parted and allowed him to fully take in his surroundings once more. The horned rock stood, bathed in moonlight, with every crevice and jagged edge visible. No shadows. No one watching him.

  Reaching up, he touched the chain at his neck. A chill crept up his spine and spread through his limbs. He began to shiver uncontrollably.

  The girl in the water had come back, and he knew she wouldn’t be leaving alone.

  While twins Alex and Ben are at sea, they get into a fight, and Ben disappears suddenly from the boat without so much as a ripple in the water. Determined to find his brother, Alex begins the biggest adventure of his life, armed only with a mysterious musical talent and the help of a local girl named Meg. But his best hope just might come from the same place as a song he’s been hearing since childhood ― the alluring and dangerous girl he finds amidst the frothing ocean waves.

  Download it today for only $4.99!

  Amanda Labonté lives in St. John’s, Newfoundland, where she gets much of the inspiration for the characters and places about which she writes. Though she knew she wanted to be a writer since the eighth grade, it was many years before she finally walked into a creative writing class and found a new home. As the co-owner of an educational business and mother of two she spends much of her day with kids of all ages. They give her some of the best reading recommendations.

  A Scene from: Carrots

  by Colleen Helme

  “Crap.” I slammed the phone shut, hanging up on Chris. “We’ve got to go.”

  “Did you just hang up on your husband?” Ramos asked. “That’s not good.”

  “No, you don’t understand. He said Hodges left his office about twenty minutes ago.” Just then my phone rang again, and I nearly dropped it. I did the only thing I could think of, and turned it off.

  Ramos shook his head, thinking I was making a mess of things. “Come on.” He took the stairs two at a time and flipped off the light before I got to the top. He opened the door, but before going out, closed it again. A second later I heard the back door close, and understood why. Hodges was home.

  We sat at the top of the stairs, barely breathing. We could hear Hodges’ footsteps as he walked through the kitchen, and down the hall. As he came closer to the door, I held my breath. I felt Ramos tense beside me, ready to spring on Hodges if he had to. The footsteps kept going, and a door closed.

  Ramos was trying to decide if we should make a run for it. He would if it wasn’t for me, but he was afraid I might trip or something and Hodges would catch us. Uncle Joey wouldn’t like that, so we stayed. Then he thought about going back down the stairs, but in the dark, he was afraid I might trip, or knock something ov
er, and Hodges would catch us.

  Geeze, did he think I was a klutz or something? He finally decided we were safe enough where we were because Hodges probably didn’t go down in the small basement very often. We sat on the stairs for a long time, listening to Hodges move around the house. I finally relaxed, realizing that if Hodges ever decided to open the door, he’d have Ramos to deal with.

  While we waited, Ramos worried that I’d say something and give us away. After a while, when I didn’t say anything, he wondered what was wrong with me. He couldn’t figure me out. His thoughts were driving me crazy, so I put up my shields and tried to decide what I was going to tell Chris.

  He’d want to know why I’d hung up on him. Twice. Then he’d want to know why I wondered where Hodges was. I certainly wasn’t ready to tell him the truth. I needed more on Uncle Joey before I could do that. Of course, by the time I got out of here, it might be the middle of the night. Chris would probably call Dimples, and the entire police force would be out looking for me. I might as well tell Ramos to shoot me now.

  My legs were starting to cramp when Hodges finally left. I sighed with relief and checked my watch. It was nearly five. Ramos opened the door and cautiously looked out, then disappeared. I was so eager to leave that my feet got tangled up, and I tripped over the top stair. I stumbled into the hallway, sending the basement door crashing into the wall.

  Ramos came running, and when he saw me sprawled on the floor, he started to laugh. He tried to hold it in, but the harder he tried, the more he laughed. He finally took pity on me and helped me up. “Are you okay?”