World-Mart by @LeighMLane #BookReview

  • Title: World-MartWorld Mart Image
  • Author: Leigh M. Lane
  • File Size: 683KB
  • Print Length: 297
  • Page Numbers Source ISBN: 1514105799
  • Publisher: Cerebral Books
  • Publication Date: October 13, 2011
  • Sold by Amazon Digital Services LLC
  • Language: English
  • ASIN: B005VTN1OC
  • Format: Kindle, Paperback
  • Goodreads
  • Genres: Dystopian Future, Science Fiction

From the author

I wrote this novel in response to the death of Kurt Vonnegut Jr., determined to create not only a dystopia for modern times, but a payment of homage to the genre. Tucked throughout the work, you’ll find allusions to numerous greats of science fiction past, hints to a future world that could easily come to pass, and subtle references to the death of an important and meaningful literary era.

World-Mart follows the classic dystopian trope, and as such, I recommend it to those who enjoyed Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle, Orwell’s 1984, and similar works.

World-Mart is the first in a trilogy, and a chilling story of class segregation, failing energy supplies, food shortages, antibiotic resistant viruses and governmental control over every action and choice made in life. With the way the world seems to be going these days, World-Mart gives a glimpse of a very possible, and frightening, future. It seemed all too real to me.

It’s slow-moving, however, I didn’t mind it because it was at the same time, a quick read. The scenes were put together beautifully. Each character held their own and was very rounded and believable. I enjoyed getting to know them and emphasized with most.

Before agreeing to read the book for a review, I read a review that stated this novel was just a commentary of the author’s rants on the success of businesses, loathing of America, etcetera. After reading, I disagree with that review. World-Mart brings me to mind of The Hunger Games, but better put together, and more realistic. And I enjoyed World-Mart a hundred percent more. I believe that it would make a good Lifetime series or even a mini-series. At the very least, I wouldn’t be too surprised should high school teachers one day decide to have their class read and study its contents for Literature. I enjoyed the ending, which saddened me, but at the same time left me wanting for more.

Still, although the story itself was five stars, there were some imperfections. There was quite a lot of telling, rather than showing, which at times put me off from reading. There were a few misspells and grammatical errors.

Leigh M. Lane followed up with Aftermath: Beyond World-Mart and its prequel, The Private Sector, both of which I would be eager to read.

Overall rate: 4 out of 5 stars.

Leigh M. Lane

“In addition to writing dark speculative fiction for over twenty-five

years, Leigh M. Lane has dabbled in fine arts, earned a black belt in karate, and sung lead and backup vocals for bands ranging from classic rock to the blues. She currently lives in the dusty outskirts of Sin City with her husband, an editor and educator, and one very spoiled cat.

Her published works include traditional Gothic horror novel Finding Poe; the World-Mart trilogy, a dystopian tribute to Orwell, Serling, and Vonnegut; and the dark allegorical tale, Myths of Gods.

Leigh also writes urban and mainstream horror as Lisa Lane: http://www.amazon.com/Lisa-Lane/e/B002BMI5S4.”

Connect with Leigh on her website.
http://www.cerebralwriter.com.

© Copyright-All rights reserved by angelakaysbooks.wordpress.com 2016

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“Blur” Book Blitz

Book & Author Details:Curse
Curse by Steven James
(Blur Trilogy #3)
Published by: Skyscape
Publication date: May 24th 2016
Genres: Thriller, Young Adult
 

Synopsis:
Don’t miss this intriguing and climactic conclusion to the Blur Trilogy.
As Daniel Byers prepares to attend a basketball camp before his senior year of high school, the terrifying blurs that’ve plagued him for the last nine months return.Dark images begin to haunt him—creatures crawling from the deepest pits of his nightmares, glimmers of chilling memories from his early childhood. But before he can unearth the meaning behind his mysterious hallucinations, Daniel must team up with two other extraordinary teens to save a young woman who has been abducted by a scientist obsessed with enacting his own warped form of justice.This atmospheric mystery picks up where Fury left off and takes readers into the uncharted regions where reality and madness intertwine.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28230959-curse?from_new_nav=true&ac=1&from_search=true

Purchase:

 
Enter for a chance to win a copy of “Blur”
https://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/d04251231236/

Read below for an Excerpt:
 
CHAPTER ONE

FRIDAY, JUNE 7

COUNTY HIGHWAY G

5 MILES OUTSIDE OF BELDON, WISCONSIN

Dusk.
The forest, thick on each side of the road, lies caught in the deep shadows of the coming night. Lake Algonquin sits nestled among them.

A net of darkness settles across the woods.

Though I’m driving, there’s no traffic and I’m alone in the car, so I sneak a quick glance at my phone.

No texts from Kyle.

His house is exactly eight miles from the corner up ahead, so at this speed I’ll be there in just under twelve minutes and forty seconds.

I don’t even have to consciously think about it. Math comes naturally to me. Sometimes it’s helpful. Sometimes it’s just annoying.

We’re going to spend some time planning for our upcoming trip to Georgia next Saturday.

In my headlights, I glimpse movement ahead of me on the right side of the road and I brake.

Two skittish whitetail deer stare at the car, then bound in front me. I wait for them to clear, make sure there aren’t any more coming, then pull forward.

Two weeks ago when I received the invitation to the basketball camp in Atlanta, I was surprised. I’d had a good season, but it’s an elite camp and usually fills up early, so just getting an invite was a big deal. But since it was half- way across the country, getting there was going to be a challenge.

Because of their work schedules, neither of my parents could take me.

Apparently, there was some anonymous donor who gave money to cover the tuition and travel costs of students from out of state to help assure “diversity.”

At first we weren’t sure if the camp scholarship was legit, but everything cleared, my coach told me it wasn’t breaking any college recruitment rules, and I sent in my registration. But there was still the issue of getting down there.

The camp is at Northern Georgia Tech, a private university just outside of Atlanta.

Not a short trip from Beldon, Wisconsin.
Right around eighteen hours, actually.
Then Kyle’s girlfriend, Mia, mentioned that she had an aunt in Atlanta whose house wasn’t too far from the cam- pus and it got us thinking.

Dad told us his college roommate lived half an hour south of Champaign, Illinois, which is about halfway down there. After he brought that up, things came together quickly. Kyle, Mia, and Nicole, the girl I was dating, would go down with me.

All of us are rising seniors, getting ready for our last year of high school. Three of us are seventeen, but Mia is eighteen and that helped our case.

Her aunt could show everyone else around Atlanta while I was at the camp. Just the right amount of freedom for us and the right amount of supervision for our parents.

Ground rules: Check in every day. No drinking. No drugs. Nothing stupid.

The first three, no problem.
That last one might take a little more work.
Now, as I come around a curve that follows the shore-line of the lake, I catch sight of some movement again, about a hundred feet away.

I slow to a stop.
 But this time it’s not a deer. 
A little boy emerges from the woods. He’s maybe five or six years old and seems distracted as he wanders to the middle of the county highway.

He stops at the centerline.

I wait to see if his mom or someone will follow after him, but after a moment it’s clear that he’s alone.

I let the car idle, then, stepping out, I call to him, “Hey, are you okay?”

The summer day has cooled off. There’s a slight chill in the air.

Crickets chatter in the shadows.

After a quick glance toward the forest, the boy faces me. Pale complexion—even in the dim light I can make that much out. He reaches one hand toward me as if he some- how wants me to hold it from this distance, but he doesn’t leave the road.

Beyond him, around the bend, headlights cut through the darkening day and the rumble of a logging truck rolls toward us from the direction of the sawmill.

I start the boy’s way. “You need to get off the road.” He doesn’t move.
 As I get nearer, although I can’t place him, I have the sense that I’ve seen him before. “Hurry!”

Nothing. 
The truck doesn’t slow. 
Now I’m running. 
Its headlights come sharply into view, glaring toward me, backlighting the boy.
 As it barrels toward us, I yell again for him to move. His back is still turned to the logging truck as he stands completely still with that one arm held out to me.

“Hey!” I gesture wildly. “Get off the road!” He stays there, but lifts the other arm. 
Both hands outstretched now. 
He wants you to help him.

He needs you to save him.

I bolt as fast as I can toward the oncoming truck to sweep the boy into my arms and get him to safety.

My mind is calculating speed, distance. Math. 
Second nature.
 There isn’t time to get there and save him. Yes there is. There has to be.

Go!

I do.

The driver blares his horn and slams on the brakes, but he’s going too fast and there’s no way he’ll be able to stop in time. The sharp smell of burning rubber fills the air. As the cab begins to slow, the truck bed, which is loaded with logs, starts sliding sideways along the road.

When I’m just a few strides away from the boy, he finally looks over his shoulder at the truck.

I throw out an arm to pick him up, but my hand passes through empty air.

I spin to see how I could’ve missed him, and my back is to the truck as it clips my left side and launches me into the air toward the ditch.

Time somehow slows and slurs around me while I’m in midair. The night becomes liquid and I’m aware of the cool evening air brushing against my face, of the rich scent of pine trees surrounding the road, of the sound of the wailing brakes. The glaring sweep of the headlights. The rocky ground beneath me. Coming closer.

Time collapses. Rips forward.

Impact.

I careen down the embankment, rolling toward the lake until I smash into a tree and come to an abrupt stop about fifteen feet from the road.

Breathe, breathe, breathe.
You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.
 It should hurt. It will hurt, but right now adrenaline is blocking the pain—during all my years of playing football I’ve taken my share of hits. I know how this works.

But right now, I don’t care about any of that.
 All I can think of is the boy. 
You didn’t get to him. You missed him. He’s gone.
 My left arm hangs loose and useless from a dislocated shoulder. 
It’s happened to me before in football and every time it does, seeing it like that is pretty shocking, but the pain hasn’t quite registered yet.

I get to my feet and scramble up the bank toward the pavement.

The logging truck has skidded past me and finally come to a stop. One of the straps holding the logs in place must have snapped because the logs have spilled sideways off the bed and are strewn across the road, blocking it.

Terrified of what I might see, I scan the pavement, but can’t find the boy. No blood. No sign of a body. I gaze into the ditch I landed in. It’s shrouded in lengthening shadows, but from where I’m standing I can’t see the boy—or what might have been left of him if he was hit by that truck.

My ankle got wrenched when I landed and as I take a wobbly step forward to study the other side of the road, it buckles. I collapse and the driver of the logging truck comes hurrying toward me.

“You okay?” he shouts.

Using only one arm, it’s tough to push myself to my feet again, but I manage. “Did you hit him?”

“Who?”

“The boy. The little boy.”

“What boy?” He stares at me dumbfounded. A mixture of confusion and fear. “We’re the only ones out here. You came running at my truck. What happened to your arm?”

“No, no, no. The boy who was in the road.”

“Listen, I’m telling you, there wasn’t anyone else. Just you. What’d you think you were doing?” He offers a hand to steady me. “You could’ve been killed. Are you okay?”

I take a step, but lose my balance again and barely catch myself from falling by grabbing his arm.

“We need to get you to a hospital. Is your shoulder . . . ?”

“Dislocated. I’m okay.”

“You shouldn’t be walking around.”

“We have to find the boy.”

The pain is finally tightening around me. I gaze at that left arm. By the awkward angle, anyone could see that things aren’t right. The last time this happened the physical therapist told me it might sublux again.

So. 
His prediction came true.

Either I get it back in place myself or I wait for a doctor to do it—and it’s going to hurt just as much then. And in the meantime the tissue will continue to swell, so it’ll only get harder to pop back into place if I wait.

“Help me,” I say to the driver. “I need to get to your truck.”

He tells me once more that I shouldn’t be walking around, but when I start limping forward, he joins me, supporting my good arm. We arrive at the flatbed and I wedge my left wrist into a gap between the boards on the back.

Okay, this is really not going to feel good. The man gasps. “What are you doing?” “Traction. I have to get . . .”
 I clench my teeth and lean backward.

A sharp explosion of pain.
I almost collapse.
But, I didn’t go back far enough. The shoulder remains out of its socket.

Relax. You need to relax the muscles. It’s the only way it’ll go back in place.

“Give me a sec.” I take a deep breath, close my eyes, ready myself, and pull back again, harder. I twist slightly and finally, after what seems like the longest three seconds of my life, the shoulder grinds as it slides back into place. There’s a shot of relief but, at the same time, a wave of a heavier, duller kind of pain.

The driver’s face blanches. “Did you just . . . ?”

“Yeah.”

I use my right hand to support the weak arm and to keep it from swinging. Based on how things went the last time this happened, it’s going to be sore for a couple weeks at least.

“You might have internal injuries.” The man produces a cell phone and punches in 911. “You should lie down until help gets here.”
“We need to find the boy.”

Finally, he gives in. “Listen. I’ll look for him. But you, rest.”

When dispatch picks up, I say to the driver, “Tell them I’m Daniel Byers. They’ll know who I am.”

“They will?”

“Yeah. My dad’s the sheriff.”

 Steven
AUTHOR BIO:

Best known for his high-octane thrillers, Steven James is the award-winning author of eleven suspense novels. The Blur Trilogy is his first mystery series for teens. Steven has taught creative writing around the world and loves rock climbing, science fiction movies, and chicken fajitas. Find him at www.stevenjames.net.

Author links:

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The Twins: A Psychological Review

  • Title:  The Twins: A Psychological Thriller Book 1the-twins-r-g-miller
  • Author: R.G. Miller
  • File Size: 525KB
  • Print Length: 227
  • Page Numbers Source ISBN: 1514105799
  •  Publisher: R.G. Miller
  • Publication Date: November 21, 2015
  • Sold by Amazon Digital Services LLC
  •  Language: English
  • ASIN: B018BREYFK
  • Formats:  Kindle, Paperback
  • Goodreads
  • Genres: Psychological Thriller

From the author:

A Gritty Suspense Thriller about innocence lost and darkness gained…What if two thirteen-year-old sisters, who were identical twins; sisters who’d came from an affluent family; twin sisters whose parents had shielded them from all the ugliness of the world; identical twins who’d shared that unique twin consciousness, were suddenly forced to watch the unthinkable: the torture and murder of their parents? What if three years later, these identical twin sisters go on an unrelenting quest for vengeance? This was the fate of 13-year-old Stacey and Jannifer McHill, identical twins who’d survived a living nightmare, but in doing so…they’ve become a living nightmare.

On their 13th birthday, identical twins Stacey and Jannifer McHill had to witness the worse thing imaginable: the brutal murder of their parents. Stepping into the shoes of the twins, it leaves you haunted by the end of the first chapter. As the story progresses three years later, we find that Detective Isis Williams, who is battling a serious anger problem, is hunting the twins who are on a murderous rampage. This is a story where we already know who did it. We just need to figure out the motive behind the heinous deeds.

The narrative tone throughout the story doesn’t seem as dark as it should be based on the story. The tone leaves one with the feel of a story intended for a slightly younger reader in spite of the sex, language and crime scenes. The twin girls, in the beginning, appear to be younger than 13, but I’m able to look past the youthfulness because on their birthday, they should be excited and happy.

However, according to the book’s description, the twin’s lives have always been perfect. Without reading the blurb, I see the twins as just being normally happy, and at the most, eight years old, rather than 13. We don’t know until near the end that the twins were shielded from a painful life.

When we meet Detective Williams, we find that she is a brutally angry woman. We even see her fighting a rookie in her first scene, which seems odd for a woman in her rank in a real world setting. I did enjoy the brief banter she and her new partner exchanged when they first met. And as Detective Williams progresses, her brutal anger turns to dedication of finding the killers.

My main issue with the story is that there were very few breaks in the scenes, if any. It could be the twin’s perspective, then Detective Williams, then someone else in one paragraph. This caused me to reread the scenes a few times to grasp which scene I should be focusing on at which time. Especially since the switches were so quick in the paragraph. There were also some editing errors that threw me off.

We quickly see how brutal, how dark, how gritty the crimes are. The crime scenes bring me to mind of CSI, or even Saw. That being said, a few word changes here and there would have made the narrative more intense. There was a lot of telling, rather than showing.

As someone who has been obsessed as of late reading literature about serial killings, and has always loved reading about identical twins, I thought the idea of this book was stellar. A little cleaning up, it would be that. If you enjoy movies like Saw, then you’ll probably want to give R.G. Miller’s debut novel, “The Twins” a try.

 
Overall Rate: 3 out of 5 stars

About R.G. Miller

Author R.G. Miller image“R.G.Miller, who was born in Brooklyn, N.Y. He’s an avid reader. His favorite subject is Abnormal Psychology. He enjoys classic R&B and Rock. He’s the grandfather of three, and he enjoys picking up a mike and singing a tune or two.

R.G.Miller spent three years working on his trilogy.”If you’re a fan of CSI, Criminal Minds, or Law and Order, The Twins: A Psychological suspense thriller is the book for you.”

The Twins: A Psychological Thriller is R.G.Miller’s first novel.”

Connect with R.G. on his Facebook page.

https://www.facebook.com/r.g.millerthetwins/


Angela Kay, Author imageBook Review

by Angela Kay.

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