Holiday Greetings from Pinky Claus

Mommy told me to say ho, ho, ho instead of ruff, ruff and ruff. And since the mailman isn’t here yet, I’ll be quiet. Ruff or not, this has been a rough year. Get it?

Anyway, she made this silly hat, and thought I should model it for all the world to see. Isn’t that hilarious? I can count her blog followers on one paw. It’s not like she’s some sort of 'influencer'. Do you think I listen to her? Hardly, ever. But it’s the holidays and the area around my heart is filled with gas and something called unconditional love. So, here I am in the hat. (Small shout out to my online friends Agatha and Winston who are probably dying of laughter. Wish we could sniff each other. If you want to meet them click here:)

The stuff mom’s been passing off as health food sucks. Plus, dad tries to sneak in some gross liver pill. Everything they eat smells better than the stuff in my bowl. It’s so unfair. When I beg for a scrap, they give me a pat on the head telling me I’m cute. Liars! How can I believe them? I’m losing weight and they still won’t make me a rib-eye steak!

Well, as I mentioned above, this past year has been an obstacle course. Not just for me, but for all of us. I’m tired of it. Especially that vet place where the other patients look big and mean like they want to eat me. Sorry, I’m still having flashbacks regarding my little sister who met a big mean dog near the park. (Very sad story but she’s at some rainbow place.) Mom says I have a dog version of PTSD. Personally, I think she does. I cheer her up with licks.

I’m even boycotting my tennis ball. She throws it, and I watch as it lands on the grass, and for some strange reason I think it looks nice sitting right there on the lawn. Guess my bones don’t feel like running and lunging anymore. Man, I used to be hyper. I’d dash around the house like a racehorse and jump onto the dining room table looking for leftover morsels. At least I still have energy to yell at that mailman. And, with any luck I’ll still be slinking around here next year at this time.  Meanwhile, I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday filled with fabulous belly rubs and the awesome snacks from my dreams. 

Wishing all of you the Happiest, most joyous New Year ever! 

My Intangible Slant on The Twelve Days of Christmas

The original Twelve Days of Christmas is a popular carol written in 1909, by an English composer named Frederic Austin. The song refers to some strange, expensive gifts. I mean why would anyone want seven Lord's a leaping for a Christmas gift, unless they're putting on a show, and need a group of guys to dance in front of the chorus? (Believe it or not, I've been there.) 

Truthfully, I think it's a unique, annoying song that permeates the holiday season with repetitive lyrics we've heard a gazillion times. So, I changed it up a bit in order to reflect true, intangible love, which is not supposed to be based on high-priced gifts or partridges in a pear tree. (This doesn't mean we don't like gifts--especially expensive ones. But come on!) 

Items in the original song would probably cost at least $50,000 dollars in today's money. Five gold rings? Swans and geese? Sheesh, we have zoning laws that prohibit poultry and French hens in my community. I guess true love can be impractical. Take for example my book Penniless Hearts which takes place a week before Christmas in the Hawaiian islands. I think my book demonstrates that romance and sanity are sisters from another mother. The bad guys want the money and all Penny wants is love. John loves Penny with all his heart. A breakdown of communication causes everything to go haywire. But remember, it's Hawaii. What can go wrong?   

On the first day of Christmas
My true love gave to me:
A garden of flowers and trees.

On the second day of Christmas
My true love gave to me:
Two smoochy kisses
in a garden of flowers and trees.

On the third day of Christmas
My true love gave to me:
Three home-cooked meals,
Two smoochy kisses
In a garden of flowers and trees.

On the fourth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me:
Four blooming rose bushes,
Three home-cooked meals,
Two smoochy kisses
In a garden of flowers and trees.

On the fifth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me:
Five bear hugs,
Four blooming rose bushes,
Three home-cooked meals,
Two smoochy kisses,
In a garden of flowers and trees

On the sixth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me:
Six romantic smiles
Five bear hugs,
Four blooming rose bushes,
Three home-cooked meals,
Two smoochy kisses.

In a garden of flowers and trees.

On the seventh day of Christmas
My true love gave to me:
Seven love poems,
Six romantic smiles,

I tried to draw a woman showing her surprise. 

Five bear hugs,
Four blooming rose bushes,
Three home-cooked meals,
Two smoochy kisses,
In a garden of flowers and trees.

On the eighth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me:
Eight uplifting emails,

Seven love poems,
Six romantic smiles
Five bear hugs,
Four blooming rose bushes,
Three home-cooked meals,
Two smoochy kisses,
In a garden of flowers and trees.

On the ninth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me:

Nine back massages,
Eight uplifting emails,

Seven love poems,
Six romantic smiles
Five bear hugs,
Four blooming rose bushes,
Three home-cooked meals,
Two smoochy kisses,
In a garden of flowers and trees.

On the tenth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me:

Ten truthful-sounding compliments,

Nine back massages,
Eight uplifting emails,

Seven love poems,
Six romantic smiles
Five bear hugs,
Four blooming rose bushes,
Three home-cooked meals,
Two smoochy kisses,
In a garden of flowers and trees.

On the eleventh day of Christmas
My true love gave to me:

Eleven cups a brewing,

Ten truthful-sounding compliments,

Nine back massages,
Eight uplifting emails,

Seven love poems,
Six romantic smiles
Five bear hugs,
Four blooming rose bushes,
Three home-cooked meals,
Two smoochy kisses,
In a garden of flowers and trees.

On the twelfth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me:

Twelve advent chocolates,

Eleven cups a brewing,

Ten truthful-sounding compliments,

Nine back massages,
Eight uplifting emails,

Seven love poems,
Six romantic smiles,
Five bear hugs,
Four blooming rose bushes,
Three home-cooked meals,
Two smoochy kisses,
In a garden of flowers and trees.

Merry Christmas to you! 

Thank you Bees

The month of November reminds us to be grateful for the little things. Can you imagine Thanksgiving dinner without vegetables, salad, green beans, potatoes, pies or even the centerpiece of flowers? Without bees there wouldn't be honey-roasted carrots, or honey-mustard dressings, all-important herbs such as parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. The delicious and festive holiday would be bland and rather boring. Of course, the bee is not responsible for our cooking or dull and dreary relatives. 😁 

Here’s a little poem I wrote about bees.

Every year,

they forget.

Arms flailing,

they live in fear.

Our hive abuzz with laughter.

But not for long.

Little guy in our garden next to a small twig.

Joyfully busy,

we make time to

land on colorful petals.

Proud part of a team. 

Until they spray.

And my family fades.

A Post of Memes

Thought I'd write a few inspirational memes.

 I took the photos too, and don't mind if you share these.

Hope you liked this post. I'd love to see your comments. Thank you!

Tricks or Treats?

Halloween is a fun time to celebrate life. Death should wait somewhere far away, out of town, on a hill, under a tree, behind a gate, in a cemetery. Sadly, not everyone agrees. Even walking by a few homes here in my neighborhood gives me the creeps.

This is an old, actual, cemetery in Julian, California
 There are homes around here that could compete with this view.

Needless to say, that doesn’t mean we don't honor and remember those who have gone before us. Though our loved ones remain in our hearts and walk with God, it's a special blessing to have days on the calendar set aside for spiritual reflection.  I'm sure you probably know that faith-filled memorials follow all the trick-or-treat hoopla on Hallows' eve. 

November 1^st is the day of the children and All the Saints. 

All Soul’s Day or Day of the Dead is on November 2. 

My favorite part of a holiday celebration can best be defined as wicked. As in, sugary cupcakes, chocolates, nuts, cookies and maybe a pumpkin latte. We have a basket brimming with the (killer) snacks near the door. Though our decorations are minimal, we look forward to seeing the cute costumes at our door. When a five-year old Wonder Woman shouts, 'Trick or treat', it melts our hearts. Little soldiers, firemen and tiny ghouls add to the fun of the evening. 

 Happy Halloween!

How about you? Do you use vats of chocolate syrup for fake blood? Do you like to decorate with bats and rats, carved pumpkins, spider webs and coffins on the lawn? Laughing skeletons and headstones? Glow in the dark witches? Ghosts flying from your trees? Signs that say 'Boo'? Yikes. It's scary out there!

 What's your favorite part of Halloween?

Retrograde Heart

There’s a character in my novel, Penniless Hearts who reads her horoscope each morning, to find out whether she’s going to have a good day. Though my characters are all fictional, I knew someone who did the same thing every day. If her horoscope sounded undesirable, this colleague would throw the newspaper to the side, in a quest for something better, and march off to find the competing newspapers. The rest of us would snicker in our cubicle waiting for her to return. We waited, hoping the stars aligned, and she’d be placated by finding something positive in her search for another horoscope. When things went well there’d be stealth thumbs up signs, notifying the oblivious or busier employees. Sometimes, we could hear a bit of slamming and sighing, if the search came up negative. Of course, all of this was before everyone had cell phones connected to the internet. Today, she can probably pull up ten different charts from various astrologists per day, and yet, I doubt the stars have anything to do with her happiness.

Sadly, I’ve had a punishing month filled with switchbacks and turns that took my heart into unexpected agony. Those who follow the stars call it a time of retrograde. But, and this is a big but, even through the toughest times I felt the unconditional love of God. There will always be bad days, confusing days and painful days. There will always be tears. The road of life isn’t easy for anyone and even in the darkest times, I’ve felt favored and blessed by the Almighty. I’m confident He has a plan. While I don't think my life has much to do with the planets, I wait for positive news. Prayers bring me comfort. Knowing He listens brings me assurance. 

Yesterday, I looked out the window and saw our garden hose. I pitied the poor ant who might think he would take an easy trip across the yard by traveling on a smooth, rubber pathway. I imagined him with his tiny knapsack setting out to see the world, only to end up right back where he started. I wondered about his determination and the reason he might try again and again, only to end up failing. Perhaps he’d never discover the delicious crumbs in my neighbor’s backyard. Most likely, he wasn’t 

meant to discover them. If, by chance a big breeze comes along, it might lift him, carrying him away, and then he’d have to reassess his priorities. Either way, putting too much credence in something like that shiny garden hose might distract him from important things. Like appreciating and accepting the life he has, and the sunshine warming his way.
Today.

What do you think? Do you believe in misaligned stars? Do you agree God has a plan for us?

Transitioning into Fall

“And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.”

From: Ode to Autumn by John Keats

Many friends look forward to the end of summer and the cooler temperatures. Fall is a warning that it’s going to be cold. Winter is on the way. It’s like a yellow light telling us to prepare to stop.

Or shop…for Christmas, before the bad weather and crowds make it difficult. 

A time when I’m not sure I’ll need a sweater, but should take one anyway. The leaves change and most of them are blown down the street. Frightening Halloween decorations fill store shelves and spiced pumpkin lattes are the rage at the coffee house. Restaurant menus reflect the harvest with less salad and more soup.

It’s a time to let go of open-toed shoes and sleeveless tops. I hang up my beach towel and fold away swimsuits. It’s getting darker and the days end faster. Instead of evening rays of light, we turn on lamps. Instead of outdoor activities, we turn towards cooking, reading, crocheting, sewing, television and computer games. The sky is bluer than ever and yet the forecast is a calculated cornucopia of various predictions. The world does a quick-change backstage for the third act, exactly like a star!

Even the birds fly faster. They make their nests. I hear them communicating as if to say they are making progress. Maybe this year I will embrace this amber-hued transition with the same joy as the flock outside my window.  It’s not just about their nests. They are pulling me in, making sure I notice how hard they work. They entertain, spread their wings and chirp. I’m pretty sure they want me to love this season as much as they do. Shamed into the truth, I have no excuses.

Fiona Memoriam

Heal the intangible heart?

Real tears,

virtual tears,

streams of salt water--

flow over your soul.

You gasp for air

watching gold fly

through the air.

Small hairs

land softly.

Once a reason to grab a vacuum

now a twinkling memory.

Hide her toys,

wash away her delightful smell?

Stop looking at photos.

Talk about the weather?

She is there--

forever in your heart.

She licks from the inside.

Kissing and playing—

Jumping, running and wagging her tail.

Again, you gasp.

She will never leave.

You might as well vacuum.

Intangible Grace

There are times the universe will ask you do something in return. Perhaps as payment for the sunny days, the healthy days, the perfect days.

Your resolve doesn’t waver during these times. You focus and follow through and accomplish what is needed with a flourish and a smile.

Later, as all of it comes together and rises to fruition, you wonder how the heck it happened. What made you do it? How in the world was all of it possible?

Your eyes pop open in the middle of the night and you realize this is beyond your doing. You are merely a stronger tool displaying as much grace as possible. A cog in a mighty wheel. A note in a song. A drop of rain in a bucket.

This Saturday, The Legends of Wildomar-Tall Tales will be acted out on stage at Le Grand Playhouse. I wrote one third of the play and two of the songs. I put together the program, had them printed, folded each one by hand with my husband and sister.  I also tried to encourage sponsorship's and inspired my family members to participate. I hung up posters in the park that blew away in the wind.  Since one actor dropped out, I’m double cast! The director wants me to be funnier. I’m expected to change into boots, chew on hay and know my lines. Huh?

The address is 16275 Grand Ave., Lake Elsinore. The play will be on September 7^th and also on the 14th. Tickets are $10 and are available by going online to BRICK or at Facebook events at: https://www.facebook.com/events/2396311220655774/ .

All the ticket proceeds will be going to BRICK, which stands for Brain Research in Cancer Kids which is an affinity of Rady’s Children’s Hospital.

BRICK was started by a family with a toddler, named Les. His grandmother is a friend of mine. Les had a brain tumor that changed his life. He endured countless hours in the hospital, surgeries, radiation, chemotherapy and pain. Most of those things began over 16 years ago.

This Saturday, I am honored and humbled to hear that Les and his parents, will be taking tickets at the door. This is not a tall tale and I have no words.

Pinky and Fiona Update

I don’t have much to say except they are confused about outside and inside. No matter what happens it is either too cold or too hot outside for them. Inside is much nicer. In their eyes, it’s luxurious.  We can leave them outside for an hour and they will either head for the emergency puppy pads in the bathroom or, if they don’t feel like climbing stairs, they might leave little puddles near the door. On the unlikely chance that they make it to the pad, they put their front paws on the pad while their backside is hanging off anyway. I guess they get points for trying, but it’s not that cute. Or fun to clean up. Still, they are loved. Bunches.

Anyway, the weather will change but it won’t make a difference. These two want indoor plumbing for dogs. I can’t argue with that. Wish my engineer dad was around so I could ask him to build me some sort of canine flushing station. Or a doggy litter box with fake grass that tickles their bellies just enough to remind them where to go. There has to be a solution. After all, man has gone to the moon and my dad helped with that.

Any ideas??

Summer Collaborations

The following poem is written by a famous poet who inspired me many years ago. To me, his poems are like snapshots. This one, a type of summer photo. While folks are at the beach, or visiting iconic landmarks, I am enjoying a seasonal harvest of fruitfulness. 

This Is Just To Say

BY WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS

I have eaten

The plums in the photo came from my neighbor's yard.
They reminded me of this short, succinct poem by William Carlos Williams. 

the plums

that were in

the icebox

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold

A week before, my generous neighbor gave us apricots, which I made into jars of delicious, jam. The plums were made into jam too, even dumplings. They were exquisite. Each, a fresh, but tart poem. 

A sort of collaboration--she grew them--I cooked them. 

Which leads me to a digression about the family play I'm co-writing with two local authors. First, we had several table readings to make sure everything flowed and sounded right, and then we had auditions! Talk about peachy!

We have a professional director and a wonderful cast. It's called The Legends of Wildomar-Tall Tales. Tickets are  available at our site, and all  proceeds go to a local children's hospital. The performances will be held September 7th and 14th at 7pm.

 (Before you know it, summer will be over, and I'll be back to writing and marketing my books. Still fruitful, but alone.)😐

 Follow us here: StageLight Playwrights

Isn't life a bowl of cherries?

So live and laugh at it all!! 

Have you ever collaborated or co-written anything? 

Isn't summer fruit an inspiration? 

Can you come see our play? 

Impatient Characters

Sometimes, the story is carried by dialogue, and at other times the story is breezing through required narrative. Then something happens. You are thinking about a certain way to phrase something and can’t come up with the exact way to describe it. What shade of blue? There are hundreds to choose from. Cobalt? Turquoise? Cornflower?  Are the trees the color of junipers or multi-colored like jasper? Is it a golden or yellow sunset?  Pink or peach flowers? Lavender or Lilac?

Sometimes, the details can be left to the reader’s imagination. Everyone knows that roses are red. But not your roses. These are special roses and you have to figure out how to describe each petal. The way they might glisten with morning dew. The way the sun has darkened the edges during a heatwave.

Simply greens and blues?
Lapis? Blueberry? Navy?
 Teal? Sage? Chartreuse? 

Maybe there’s a wretched phone call. It takes you away from your manuscript for several days. Possibly weeks. Even months.

By the time you return to the story, you feel different about everything. You like the plot, but your characters, the ones you invented, have turned into mush. You can’t relate to them, and you’re not even sure you like them anymore.

Yesterday, they woke you from a deep sleep, with all sorts of promises. They are willing to die for you, if only you’ll get back to writing. They become sort of dramatic at four in the morning.

So, you humor them, at least until the next time you get up from your desk and walk away. You write two hundred words, maybe more. Your characters are back with a vengeance. They are stronger, better looking and sexier. It’s like you needed to go away and return to make them better. Then it happens again. The message, the letter, the appointment that creates a hiatus.

It’s four in the morning and the fiends are hopping around again, looking for a way to drag you back to your writing chair. Day after day, you begin to hide under your pillow. Stronger now, they have strange, often scary ideas that make you mad. Tired of it, you mentally threaten to delete them from your hard drive. They gather at the edge of the mattress and sob. They don’t deserve you. Let them wait.

The Wise Grasshopper

Grasshopper,

this bundled month,

I made homemade apricot jam rather

than spend time on edits.

Editing my book is like a patriotic parade,

with funereal slowness.

A sad march.

Characters are intimate friends.

I’m sensitive to their needs.

They want me to linger.

But I’m going swimming.

Plug in the fan,

turn on the air.

I’m crocheting a blanket.

Reading a book with dreary characters.

Local play rehearsals are my new diversion.

Town had a historic bell-ringing celebration.

Glad I could make it.

There’s the woman’s group,

the city meeting at Elks,

and of course,

church.

Jittery dogs need a walk.

Reruns on television.

It doesn’t seem fair to repeat quiz shows,

though my answers sound impressive.

I’d rather be an ear to a friend.

Their drama better than mine.

I’m not complaining.

But there’s something about this summer,

That’s kept me praying.

A sudden shift in normal--

perhaps just the alignment of the stars--

in the warmed-up sky.

One neighbor sailed away forever.

Our home shook on the Fourth of July.

You were here,

 as if to warn us,

centered on the gate.

Anyway, labels.

I need to make stickers for jam jars.

Go work on my manuscript?

What is wrong with you?

No wonder I took your photo.

Springing Into Summer Reading

Do you know you can read books on your Smart Phone? All you have to do is download the Amazon Kindle App(pictured above), and a world of books will be at your fingertips! Believe it or not, I've known this for a long time, but even with my new super-strong reading glasses, I prefer my eReader. Imagine my consternation when my eReader decided to freeze like a Popsicle during a heatwave? We tried everything. It went kaput. On the blink. Dead as a door nail. We tried pushing the on/off button for several seconds. Turning it back on, etc. Nothing but a dark sky. No stars.

The charger didn't work either. Everything was stuck, like that kid who licks the icy pole in A Christmas Story.  I searched the internet for technical repair ideas and watched how-to videos where computer experts remove the back of the gizmo with microscopic tools. When I shared some of those videos with my husband, he laughed and reminded me to set the clock on the DVD player. Guess we didn't inherit too many mechanical genes around here. The DVD is not even plugged in, but I've figured out the microwave clock. When they do away with daylight savings time, I'll be ahead of the game!

One day, I sashayed into the big electronic box store and asked the friendly, self-described geeky employee what he thought I should do. It was obvious he felt sorry for me. Several other employees gathered around and stared at me with sad, but kind eyes. They told me to bring it in for a tune-up, which, by the way, is pricier than a tune-up on our car. Certainly, more than the entire reader cost in the first place.  Blinking back tears, I worried I'd never get to read my giant pile of virtual books.  Can you imagine, I even went to a bookstore and purchased regular, tree-killing paper books?  Finally, I relented and bought a new reader online.

 And, while waiting for the package to arrive in the mail, I opened up that App on my phone and read some great books. 

Here's some spring favorites:

This book is the perfect companion for someone about to travel to Wales. I can imagine it would come in handy when making a bet at a pub. Crammed full of information, it’s almost intoxicating. I can tell the author could write several additional books about many of the subjects covered in this compendium. Of course, most of the tall tales are based on hearsay and the oral tradition. There's a lot of research here. That being said, the author, Jack Strange often uses the word ‘possibly’, as he navigates from one amazing topic to another. Lucky for him, he didn’t see most of this with his very own eyes.
There are detailed stories about Welsh dragons, witches, coal miners and their premonitions. There are several Welsh ghost stories, superstitions, courting rituals, wedding customs, the fate of wife beaters, food, miraculous springs, frog curses, pirates, monks, Merlin, King Arthur, The Holy Grail, fairies, mermaids, and Druids. Even unique Welsh sports such as Shin Kicking or Bog snorkeling.
And there’s more: The legendary afanc is apparently the Welsh equivalent of Nessie. Women acted as reinforcements during war, there’s the devil’s bridge and the sensational belief that a Welsh explorer by the name of Madoc, discovered Alabama in 1170.
“Wales is a country where everything has a song; the surf chants as it breaks on the shore, the rivers sing in their secret solitude through the hills, and even the wind whispers to its own tune.” So sensitive and so romantic.
Personally, I loved everything but the historic names and the strange combination of letters in the Welsh language.
My favorite quote is ‘Unraveling myth from folklore is nigh impossible in Wales, and that is part of the strange charm of this country.”

This book surprised me from beginning to end. Karen, the main character, worked so hard in previous books, I thought she had earned the right to snuggle, instead of traversing all over the United States helping friends with difficult issues. But, as you read about all the other lovable characters, you’ll be glad they have someone like Karen in their life. We all need a Karen to remind us of balance.

The author delves into topics such as: risking true love for family, the possible beginnings of Alzheimer’s, drugs, ethics, elder abuse, same-sex marriage, just to name a few. Almost every negative point has a positive counterpoint. One of my favorite lines, “While I complained, a half-dozen black and grey chickadees flitted over and began feeding.”

Spreen is an excellent writer. She keeps things lighthearted by even breaking through that fourth wall at times, addressing the reader. As in Chapter 20 about a hand gesture and how it’s “not the one you’re thinking,” or when she has to “plan” a trip and says, “you know”. Which cracked me up. The personal style makes for comfortable reading, as if Lynne Spreen is relaying her story to a close group of friends. Then, near the end there are even more clever surprises but you’ll have to read the book to find out more!

Once I got to the sentence,”Unfortunately, fate opted for revenge over some past indiscretion to come back with the vengeance of a thousand plagues,” there wasn’t a doubt in my mind I’d be in for an entertaining cozy mystery.

Kellen’s father is the president of Braxton College where two murders take place in Diamond Hall. Hercule Poirot, he’s not, but Kellen does have a certain intuition about things that may help Sheriff Montague solve the double homicide cases. There are red herrings that pulled me into several maze-like false beliefs about the killer’s identity, which, made for fast page turning. Could it be the Coach? His friend Conner? His old flame Maggie? One of the students? The Dean? Maybe even his dad?

Nana might know. After all, she’s busy baking things and giving him insight into local politics, while serving Kellen shortbread with lemon icing or coconut cream pie. I have to admit I was distracted and drooling, by the time he wrote about the blueberry scones, the double fudge brownies, peach cobbler and my all-time favorite: cherry pie. This author needs to write a cookbook or at least he should attach a few of his Nana’s recipes.
Either way, most of the truth will come out in the end, but there are a few surprises and a major curve-ball that will make you crave more of this author’s work. Of course, you might also want a side of Nana D’s corn muffins with raspberry jam, or her warm cinnamon buns on the side.

This book will inspire anyone. You don’t need to like dogs or auto racing to see the underlying metaphorical message that weaves throughout this novel. “That which you manifest is before you.” In other words, looking behind you, or glancing in the rear-view mirror, especially if you’re a race car driver and it’s raining, can cause a lot of trouble, even death.
Enzo, is a dog, and the narrator of this unique, artful story. Everything is from his perspective and you’ll almost forget that a talented author by the name of Garth Stein is the actual author. Since Enzo’s person, Denny is a race car driver, that makes Enzo describe everything as if, he too, were a race car driver. When there’s a courtroom battle, Enzo wants to be part of it. Each time Enzo uses the pronoun ‘we’ instead of me, or him, your heart will melt into a thousand pieces. You see this dog listens to everything and knows the truth about Denny. In fact, he understands things that humans don’t even understand. And though the story is nothing like Old Yeller, you’ll probably need a tissue by the time you reach the finish line.

With years of experience in marketing and advertising, I enjoyed this fantasy about neuromarketing. In this case, a demon from Hell wants power over Heaven, God and our country, using electronic devices that influence souls. In this action-packed story with detailed characters, the author talks about goggles that make users unable to think for themselves. Reginald is in charge of marketing the goggles, and Timothie is a gay superhero from another planet. Bael is the demon wanting millions of souls. Even if “good always wins over evil,” there are sections that make you wonder. Is the planet doomed? There are funny parts that made me laugh out loud, and wild twists that kept me turning pages. I think, if you like superhero stories such as the Avengers, you’ll like Timothie Hill And The Cloak of Power.

How about you? Read any great books, lately?