friday – Cynthia Hilston – Author & Blogger

Old Family Pictures & Genealogy: Our Connection to the Past

grandma2 I can still remember sitting at the dining room table in my grandma’s house and looking at old family pictures. Those days were at least 25 years ago now.

When you’re a kid, time almost seems to stand still. Those Sunday afternoons at Grandma’s house seemed like they would never end.

Now I cannot believe how much time has passed.

The photo to the right shows my grandma’s family around 1921. My grandma is the girl in the front, about 8 years old here. She grew up in a family of nine (her younger brother hadn’t yet been born here) in Cleveland, Ohio.

grandma4 — My grandparents in 1942: Love the hat!

Those old photographs now belong to my mom, but I have scanned several of them. They reside in a box in the closet, on my computer, and in my heart. I look at them now with an awe and appreciation I couldn’t as a child. Now I’m a mother. My mom is a grandmother, and so the cycle continues.

Seven years ago, I dove into genealogy and researching my family tree on both sides. I used Family Search as a free resource to find a lot of my information, but I was also fortunate to have documentation of my own. I used My Heritage to build my family tree online and share it with my family. Next week, I will share more about my experiences with family tree creation, so come back to check that out!

I wanted to update and document my family tree, as heritage is important to me. Knowing where I come from is part of who I am. When I see old pictures of family members, I can look into their eyes and smile with them, feeling that connection. I am transported back in time, and Grandma is sitting next to me at her dining room table again, telling me who all those people are in the photographs.

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Special Sneak Peek at My Next Horror Short Story

Flushed

Mom sleeps in my sock drawer. I suppose if I were a better daughter, I would clean out the socks that don’t have matches or the ones with holes in them. At least the socks are clean, which is more than I can say about my old mother. She is a courteous inhabitant of my sock drawer, taking up only a six-by-four inch corner.

As I climb into bed, I stop to stare at the tattoo on my inner wrist–a semicolon. Mom’s voice disturbs my concentration.

“What a stupid idea. Why the would you waste your money on something like that, Julia? Something that never comes off. You’ll be old and wrinkled, and it’ll look like a piece of shit on your skin.” Here words echo through time, a memory from five years ago as fresh as the day I got the tattoo.

Yes, Mom, some spots never come off, like the stains you put on my life, imprinted on my soul.

“It’s a semicolon, not a period, symbolic that my life isn’t at an end. There’s still more to come,” I said the day I got inked.

She snorted–then later snorted some crack and drank a bottle of vodka. “Aw, how sweet. You just failed at killing yourself, just like you failed at everything else in life…high school, one job after another. How many boys have you fucked? Don’t tell me you’re a dyke now. Screwing girls is probably the only option you have left. If you haven’t gotten into the pants of every guy in Pepperville yet, I might just have a heart attack.”

“Please do, Mom…have a heart attack, that is. And I learned from the best. You wanna talk failure? How about your failure as a mother?”

Slap! Her hand made contact with my cheek. The sting didn’t hurt as much as the further confirmation of her betrayal to the only person she was supposed to love. I suppose she did love me, in her own messed up way.

I blink into the darkness now, willing the memory to die like my old mom. Ironically enough, it was a heart attack that did her in. With the chemical abuse she did to herself for years, to die of natural causes was a surprise. Of course, dowsing herself with booze and drugs likely contributed to her heart turning on her, but who knows? That her heart killed her, an organ she didn’t seem to possess in the figurative sense, well, that was more irony.

How sweet, as Mom liked to say.

“Shut up,” I mutter into the black.

A switch flipped off the light five minutes ago. Why can’t I flip off a switch in my mind to turn it off, too?

I glare at my dresser, what looks like a dark blob in the corner of my room. Next to the blob in the shadows, slightly darker than the rest of the room, a mass seems to detach itself from the dresser. I shake my head and lie down, closing my eyes. Every night since the funeral, it’s been like this. Two weeks, only two weeks, but it could be two years for the infernal haunting of Mom’s voice from that drawer.

Some people speak of feeling a presence climbing into bed with them when trying to sleep. It’s more than a cat or a dog jumping onto the bed, but something so human-like as it moves across the surface, settling next to the victim. I can feel Mom sidling up next to me in bed, pulling the covers over us and grinning at me with her yellow nicotine teeth and dull skin. Every time I close my eyes, her bloodshot eyes glare at me. She smiles at me like a Halloween decoration and asks me who I’m in bed with now. She blows out smoke into my face.

You, Mom? In bed with you? How twisted is that?

Not by choice, Mother.

I groan as I bolt up in bed, throwing the covers off. The humidity of summer sticks to my goose-bumped skin, and I wonder why the hell I was trying to stay warm only moments ago when it’s so hot. That’s right. Because I was shaking when I got into bed. Yes, downright freezing.

I throw on the light next to the bed and wince at the brightness. My dresser sits as it always does–unmoving. The air smells of stale cigarettes and alcohol-vomit. That’s ridiculous. I leave the bed and make way for the dresser like I’m about to attack. Grabbing the top drawer, I swing it open with such force that my socks spill out all over the floor. Mom’s wooden box clatters to the faux-wooden floor, unharmed.

I pick up the box and glower. “Just shut up, won’t you? I couldn’t afford to bury you, and no one else wanted to deal with you. God, why am I still putting up with you?”

The box of ashes clutched in my shuddering hands, I move to the closet. I yank clothes off their hangers in my haste to dig through the bottom of the closet for it–my safebox. I haul the heavy thing out of the closet, set it on the dresser, then plop Mom on top of it.

I flip on light after light as I make my way down the hall and into the living room, then finally the kitchen. Pulling open the junk drawer, I rifle through it until I find it–my box of keys.

I return to my room with the box and begin my search for the key to the safebox. Grumbling to myself for not throwing away old keys, I spend the next few minutes trying every key like a mad woman. When one clicks the safebox open, I laugh in triumph. I remove the important papers from the box. Nothing is more important than locking Mom away, imprisoning her. How funny that her ashes will be protected in the event of a fire.

Satisfied with my work, I leave the mess of keys and put the safebox back in the closet. I pull the door shut, but it gets caught on a dress half-hanging out. With a groan, I snatch the dress from the hanger, throw it down, and slam the door all the way shut.

I flick off the lights and return to bed. The dresser is a formless mass in the darkness once again, but the shadow beside it is gone. I toss and turn for the next hour and find myself staring at the closet. Does the door seem to be open a crack? Just enough for Mom to peek out?

Review of Cobwebs of Youth by Rose Auburn

Summary: ‘Cobwebs of Youth’ is a contemporary, romantic novel set in the London suburbs. It tells the story of Lara Cassidy who realises her dream of becoming a children’s book illustrator like her father. Yet her happiness is short-lived and she is plunged into uncertainty as Robert Kennedy, the mysterious stranger she first encountered ten years earlier, comes back into her life. Will Lara finally be able to lay her Father’s ghost to rest and fully embrace what the future holds?

Note: I was given a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Cobwebs of Youth is a lovely book, let me just say. Lovely is the first word that comes to mind and sticks with me as I recount my experience reading this novel.

I am quite familiar with British novels, having recently read The Girl on the Train and The Woman in Cabin 10. I am also a fan of British shows, such as Doctor Who, Downton Abbey, and Sherlock. Being an American, I pick up on the differences in the English language when I step into a British novel. And it’s lovely.

The characters in this book are very realistic and relatable. Their dialogue reads so fluidly, so naturally. That is probably my favorite part of this story, and it’s a character-driven, dialogue-driven story told in third person-limited narrative, so what a pleasure to read Lara Cassidy’s journey of finding herself.

It may sound like another modern mundane romance story, like another journey of self-discovery. I admit, this arch is overdone these days, yet it works so well most of the time. When done right, as it is in Cobwebs of Youth (which is a great title, by the way), these types of stories can resonate with many people.

The book opens with an 18-year-old Lara visiting her father, against her mother’s wishes. Her parents are divorced. When she arrives at her dad’s house, she finds he is with a French woman. She feels betrayed, no longer the first woman in her dad’s life. She is at a vulnerable age. She and her best friend, Jen, go to a local pub to drink away their sorrows. While there, Lara meets an older biker man named Rob, who comforts her. She is both intrigued and put off by him.

A decade passes. Lara’s dad has died, and she moves into his house. She is in a relationship with attorney Ed, a guy who, according to Lara’s mum, has a good job and is a good match for Lara. Lara is an artist, an illustrator like her dad, and has a big project coming up to illustrate a children’s book called Puddle. It may be her big break where her career is concerned, but she finds herself severely unhappy. She attends one of Ed’s work parties, where everyone is only surface-level and rubbing noses. She has felt little affection for Ed for months, and he seems equally distant, more concerned with his job than their relationship. They finally end it.

Lara almost steps back in time by returning to the pub where she met Rob, unable to forget him all these years. As fate would have it, he is there again. They start talking and strike up a relationship. Rob is everything Ed isn’t. Jen and Lara’s mum don’t approve of her dating a biker, but she feels more alive with him than she has in her life. She rides a motorcycle for the first time and feels exhilarated. She meets new people. She is head-over-heels in love with this mysterious guy.

But life is never easy. As much as Lara wants to get away from the past, it’s still part of her. This story is a beautiful exploration of a young woman’s struggle to come into her own.

There are some grammatical errors in the book, but they don’t detract from the story or the great dialogue.

4 out of 5 stars

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Review of Jacqueline Willoughby by Schuyler Randall

jacquelinewilloughby Summary: A string of mysterious murders rocks Birmingham, Alabama, in the page-turner Jacqueline Willoughby. At first glance, the murders seem to be connected to the Ten Commandments, but FBI agents Kason McAlester and Troy Stephens see that there is more to the story—and that a rare book written decades ago by a woman named Jacqueline Willoughby may have the answer to solving the crimes.

Will the two agents be able to follow the trail of the old book and find the killer responsible for these grisly murders? You’ll have to read Jacqueline Willoughby to find out.

Note: I was given a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Jacqueline Willoughby is a crime novella that reads quickly and is a good short book to pick up if you’re looking for an afternoon of entertainment. It’s what I might call a beach read: It’s easy to understand and straightforward.

The novel revolves around a series of murders in Birmingham, Alabama, in current day. FBI agents Kason McAlester and Troy Stephens investigate these murders and quickly come to the conclusion that they are connected. The murderer is following the Ten Commandments to carry them out. The victims are always purposefully placed and left with a wadded up piece of paper in their mouths that says what their crime is that they were killed for, plus the initials J.W.

For several chapters, the story follows a simple convention: The FBI agents and other police show up at the crime scene to find the victims. Kason smells a perfume fragrance left by the killer. The papers are recovered from the victims’ mouths.

This repetition begins to feel a bit overdone, but luckily, the author breaks up the chapters by having the agents meet with others who may have some knowledge of what happened. I enjoyed these segments more, especially the visits to a Mrs. Madison and her elderly aunt, Dr. Moore, who is interesting and sometimes humorous to read. Dr. Moore is the one who gives the agents the information about a book written by Jacqueline Willoughby that may be connected to these murders. The book describes similar murders that happened in the 1930s and were done by Willoughby’s daughter, Raina.

The dialogue from some of the minor characters was more realistic than what came out of the agents’ mouths most of the time. Of course, it’s expected the FBI agents would be all business while investigating a crime, but I would have liked to have seen more personality worked into Kason and Troy. We get some glimpses of their personal lives, like when they are with their wives or at church, but I would have liked to have seen more.

I don’t read many crime novels (or novellas), so this genre isn’t very familiar to me. It felt very formulaic. As a novella, it is shorter than a novel, but I would have liked it to be fleshed out more. I think more background on the agents and more time spent with them when they weren’t just investigating crimes would have made them more relatable and interesting. Many of the characters just spoke in bland dialogue, maybe even feeling robotic at times.

I am more into character-driven stories. This one is definitely more plot-driven. More motives and background on the killer would have been great as well. Everything seems almost too easy. I figured out who the killer was about halfway through the book. Throw in some red-herrings next time. Make me guess more. Don’t make it so easy.

While this is a good book for entertainment, I think it would have worked better as a full novel with more details. It feels like something is missing for me, but maybe that’s just my bias. Readers of crime novels and plot-driven stories would likely enjoy this book.

Grammar, punctuation, and sentence structure are all near perfect, which is a breath of fresh air after the last couple of indie authors I’ve read.

3 out of 5 stars

Buy this book on Amazon:

Jacqueline Willoughby

Like what you’ve read? Please subscribe to my blog, where I post a new blog every Friday, including book reviews.

My novel, Lorna versus Laura, is available for only $2.99 here.

My novel, Hannah’s Rainbow: Every Color Beautiful, is available for $3.99 here.

Support me on Patreon!

Review of Off Script: A Monkey & Me Novel by Liv Bartlet

offscript Summary: “I kissed Edward Wolverton once. It was everything it was supposed to be—and then some… maybe I’ll kiss him again.” TV Producer Bea Douglas’s last confession to her former business partner and ex-best friend wasn’t meant to tempt the fates. She’s eager to escape the hypocrisy of the television industry and years of hiding her faith for the convenience of other people. Edward Wolverton may be hot, smart, and funny—but he’s also two steps out of rehab with a self-proclaimed allergy to Christianity. But after a club night turns violent, Bea loses her sense of self while Eddie teeters on the edge of relapse. Their connection to each other is the only certainty. To be together, each will have to let go of past pain and have faith in a love that never fades. Off Script is an uncommon story of the power of love and resilience to bring people together in a society that does its best to tear them apart.

Note: I was given a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Off Script is the second in the Monkey & Me series by Liv Bartlet. I had the pleasure of reading the first novel, Production Values, last year. You can read my review here. I highly suggest you read the first book to receive the full benefit of the second book’s story, although Off Script can certainly be read independently and thoroughly enjoyed.

Off Script is a literary breath of fresh air in the indie author world. I read plenty of books by self-published authors, and like its forerunner, this second book in the series is smart, sassy, funny, has heart, and makes you actually think, all the while entertaining you. It’s rare to find a book that has all those qualities.

I am a writer, an author, and an avid reader. The more I read and write, the more persnickety I get. Liv Bartlet knows her stuff. Not only does she have excellent insight into the workings of the making of television shows and movies, but she understands human interactions with a depth that few writers can convey so believably in their dialogue.

Bea Douglas has spent years in the world of Hollywood and the like. She thrives on her work. She’s the sort of woman who needs to be doing something to feel useful. When she’s not producing a show or running PR, she’s a volunteer nurse. She’s sassy, witty, and quick. She shows a tough exterior to a world where she has to be tough for the sake of keeping her head above the water.

But behind all that glamor is a broken soul who longs for more. She wants to be a mother. She is in love with heart-throb actor Eddie Wolverton, who is the male lead in her TV show Void. She is also a woman a faith, a Mormon, who believes, against the conventions of society, in waiting until marriage to have sex.

Before you turn away at this point because of the mention of religion, let me just say that this book does not preach or try to throw religious dogma in the reader’s face. I admire Bea for sticking to her convictions in a world where many would snub her. Bea’s faith is a real part of her character, just as Eddie’s aversion to religion is a necessary and believable part of his character. As Bea loves Eddie, so he loves her. Their religious differences are one of the obstacles they must overcome to be together. People face these kinds of obstacles every day in relationships. Bea is open-minded and non-judgmental of those who are different, and Eddie loves Bea more for her conviction of knowing what she wants. This is admirable. They complement each other the way bacon and chocolate together works. They may seem strange at first glance, but look deeper, and you find that the complexities and layers are rich and meld together beautifully.

Eddie is a recovering alcoholic. Bea doesn’t drink, even though she spends time around crowds who do. This is yet another road block for their relationship, but no one just falls in love, and boom, it’s happily ever after. Even though Eddie has his vice of alcohol and his ex, Siena, he is a likeable guy. Having written a couple of male characters in my books who suffer from alcoholism and seeing it in my own extended family, I know the stumbling block it is. Alcoholics are not bad people. They are often quite charming and outgoing, but their outward smiles and living it up during the good times are a cover for the desperation of turning to the bottle.

Bea is trying to figure out her life after the partnership of Monkey & Me was destroyed when her best friend, Kat, decided to pursue her own dreams in the industry. She figures it’s finally time to walk away from the Hollywood life and settle down into her dream of a family life. When things turn disastrous for her at a club one night, she is left hollow and broken. She reaches out to Eddie. Although Eddie is very much in love with Bea, he has his own problems and is perhaps not the best support for Bea to lean on.

What ensues is a balancing act of Bea and Eddie each working independently and together to overcome their obstacles. Love is the starting point, but is it enough to break through their weakness and make them stronger as one? Bea is clear: she wants marriage if Eddie wants sex. She also wants a baby and is pregnant with another man’s child (it’s not what you think).

I appreciate Liv’s honesty with these characters. She doesn’t dance around the hard topics: like faith, family life, marriage, rape, drugs, alcohol, and more. In the messiness, a masterpiece painting is created.

I recently heard someone say that when God is creating a lovely tapestry, if you turn it around and look at the back, you will see all the messy threads, the pieces that had to go together to create this work of art. We often don’t understand why life plays out as it does, but trusting in God, as Bea tries to do, is better than trusting in ourselves alone.

Full disclosure: I am a Christian, so Liv’s story resonated with me. I understand Bea’s struggle with her faith. I also believe that anyone can read this story and enjoy its message of love being stronger than our weakness.

This is a beautifully rendered women’s fiction story.

5 of out 5 stars

Favorite quote: “Friendzone isn’t a terrible place to be. No drama, plenty of food, and someone who cares.”

Buy Off Script: A Monkey & Me Novel on Amazon

Like what you’ve read? Please subscribe to my blog, where I post a new blog every Friday, including book reviews.

My novel, Lorna versus Laura, is available for only $2.99 here.

My novel, Hannah’s Rainbow: Every Color Beautiful, is available for $3.99 here.

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What’s Holding You Back from Your Dreams?

Everyone has dreams, and I don’t mean the kind you have at night when your mind slips into an unconscious state.

When you’re asked what your dreams are, what do you say? Do you freeze up, unable to articulate your dreams because you claim you aren’t sure? I’m not a betting person, but I’m willing to bet the uncertainty that plagues you is fear.

Maybe you won’t even name your dreams or dare to dream because of fear. Fear of failure, fear of rejection, fear of embarrassment, low self-esteem, a negative self-image, and caring too much that others think or say (which is mostly in your mind, anyway) are all factors of not daring to dream in the first place.

I have been following a vlogger on YouTube for years now who I think is beautiful (inside and out), talented, adorable in her antics, inspiring, and a fighter. She admits often that the persona she portrays to the world in her videos is much more confident than she really is.

I used to be shy, but now I am able to talk and usually joke around with just about anyone. I can laugh about life when I’m in a group, even the things that bother me. Put me alone with my thoughts, and I am not that outgoing, confident person.

I get what this vlogger is saying. We can put on a smile on the stage. As I wrote in one of my novels, a smile can cover a lot of pain. Laugh enough and it doesn’t hurt so much, right? Yeah, something like that.

I look at this lovely young woman who I know only through the Internet and marvel. She has enormous support, but with any sort of fame come those who are all too happy to belittle, threaten, and hurt. Funny how 99 people can compliment you, but it only takes that one person to tear you down. What do we focus on? The negative.

Like this vlogger I follow and think the world of, many people suffer inwardly. She admits to turning down several opportunities because she doesn’t feel worthy. She has wonderful dreams, but her low self-confidence gets in the way. That is what holds her back from her dreams. She knows that.

For years, I said I wanted to be a published author. That was my dream, at least one of them. Yet for years, I did very little to make my dreams a reality. I had ideas for my first novel (based off my late grandma’s life, who I loved dearly). You can read more about the inspiration behind my first book here.

I managed a few pithy chapters. I read my grandma’s diary and a few pages she had written about her life while growing up. I jotted down several notes. This was between October 2006 and January 2009. I then left the book sitting on my hard drive. I hadn’t forgotten about it, but whenever I thought about sitting down at the keyboard and writing, I faltered. Overwhelmed at the prospect of writing an original story, I let fear dictate my actions and reasons.

Fear wasn’t the only culprit. It was easy to find excuses, a hundred other things that needed my daily attention. Many of those things were legitimate, like caring for my young kids and the house, but I believe if you really want something, you will do whatever you need (within reason) to attain it.

If I wanted to work out more, I would get to the gym more often. If I wanted to eat healthier, I wouldn’t buy chocolate or go through the McDonald’s drive thru. If I wanted to save more money, I would stop buying unnecessary items.

Sure, I want these things, but how much do I want them? Not enough, apparently.

I came to the hard realization that even though part of me wanted better or more, I must not have wanted those things badly enough.

I have written about having no regrets in a previous blog post. This one ties into that. Both topics involve fear of failure.

I believe the only way to fail is to do nothing.

In March 2015, I finally make a life-altering decision: I would write every day on my original story, even if I never published it, even if no one ever read it. Tired of traipsing through the lands of other authors and their characters in the world of fan fiction for 20 years, I knew that if I was to take myself as a writer seriously, I NEEDED to write every day, even if only for ten minutes.

Ten minutes. That’s all I told myself. It was a realistic goal.

To reach your dreams, you must set realistic, attainable, often short-term goals. Setting the goal of writing a whole book could have been too much. It was for me for years. As I said, overwhelming. I had already committed to exercising at least three days a week and had been doing it for three years at that point. If I could do that, I could write for ten minutes a day. Besides, I loved writing. I believe and have always believed that writing is in my blood, my fourth child (I have three actual ones), and was one of my purposes in life.

Your life purpose is what drives your desire to have dreams, but getting there is the intimidating and often difficult part. Goals at the stepping stones, every inch of pavement poured to create the road you travel from purpose to dreams. Day by day, little goal by little goal, you get there.

I finished my first draft of my first novel ten months after seriously sitting down to write it. I published it seven months after that. Once I got going, I couldn’t stop. I now have published a second novel, completed two more, and am nearing completion on my fifth.

Besides all this? I have joined a writers group at my local library, which you can read more about here. I have made invaluable friendships with several of these wonderful people who are like-minded. They are writers. They understand my raison-d’etre. I get them.

I have days when I question my ability to write, but they are fleeting. Our days are numbered in a fleeting life, so why do anything other than go for your dreams? If I hadn’t overcome my fears, I would have never gotten where I am today. I wouldn’t have shared my stories. I wouldn’t be spending time doing what I love daily. I wouldn’t have met so many lovely friends.

Speaking of friends, a long-time and dear friend of mine has written extensively on the topics of life purpose, goals, and dreams on her blog. I highly recommend you check her blog out if you would like to seriously pursue these topics further.

It’s funny that I had this blog idea for months and how its placement at the beginning of February coincided with my friend’s recent blog posts about the same topics. Fortuitous? Meant to be? I would like to think so.

Keeping dreaming, my friends, but if you’re serious about making your dreams a reality, you have to do the work. Pave your road with goals, not good intentions. Build your life with action, not ideas.

As any good writer knows, a story is driven by action. Ideas are good and all, but a good idea doesn’t necessarily make for a good story. You have one life. Make it a good story, even a great one.

Like what you’ve read? Please subscribe to my blog, where I post a new blog every Friday, including book reviews.

My novel, Lorna versus Laura, is available for only $2.99 here.

My novel, Hannah’s Rainbow: Every Color Beautiful, is available for $3.99 here.

Support me on Patreon!

Review of The Lamp and Lantern by A.E. Vaughn

Summary: The first series in the Lamp & Lantern contains ten episodes that portray a search for a legendary fictional gold mine lost in a cursed region of the northern Rocky Mountains. Along the way the cast of characters are drawn together by a common lust for gold as they reminisce about the past, speculate about the lost fortune, and share in the success and misfortune of those around them. In their pursuit of the lost mine they endure a myriad of challenges from this world and the next.

The target audience crosses between those that enjoy modern stories and television about outdoorsmen, survival, gold fever, and paranormal and unexplained mysteries. It brings many historical and modern concepts together to provide a new twist on a gold rush in today’s world. The manuscript simultaneously comments on people, large corporate deception, and greed while being intertwined with the reinvention of love in the main characters eyes.

During the first series the reader meets Jonathan Daxter, who spent much of his childhood with his grandfather and uncle searching a remote section in northern Idaho for the Lost Lamp gold mine. After growing up and moving away, Jon returns home upon the passing of his grandfather. He soon realizes that he has reached a breaking point in his career and relationship, and rekindles his long forgotten lust for the lost mine as a way out of middle class normalcy. Jon gathers a team of trusted friends and colleagues with whom he pieces together clues from stories and maps forgotten in history. Along the way they navigate through difficult mountainous terrain, encounter eccentric people, stumble upon clues lost in time, and cross over into a seemingly paranormal world lost in the remoteness and mystery of the area. In the end of the first part of the series the reader is left to believe that certain team members have fallen, others have split, and others may have indeed stumbled upon the Lost Lamp mine – and perhaps much more.

Note: I was given a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

The novel opens with a 15-year-old Jon Daxter out in the Idaho wilderness with his grandpa Jim and his uncle Roger. Jim tells his grandson stories about the lost gold mine they are searching for. Jon knows finding this mine has been his grandpa’s life ambition, and he has gone out into the woods many times in search of it. Right off the bat, there is a lot of narration used to tell the backstory of the mine. It feels like the author is eager to give the reader as many details about the legendary mine, and it comes across as an information dump. It’s too much too soon. Grandpa Jim is an interesting character, but he could have been rendered more three-dimensional if his character hadn’t been used primarily as a source of giving information.

When Jim has a sudden stroke by a creek upon the trio discovering a symbol of the lamp on a tree, at a place they’ve never been before while on their search, it seems like that’s the end of the journey for Jon. The narrative fast-forwards twenty years, and Jon is an executive in a large company in corporate America, highly unhappy with his lot in life. He’s been living with the same woman since college. The woman, Paige, has nothing better to do than laze about their apartment and watch T.V. and spend all of Jon’s hard-earned money. Jon is clearly unsatisfied with where his life has gone. His dreams in his youth have vanished to give way to a bitter, middle-aged man who hates his job and his relationship. This is an interesting development for Jon’s character. I like that he is given more of a backstory than just lusting after the gold like his grandfather.

All these years, Grandpa Jim has been catatonic from the stroke. He has spent most of that time in nursing homes, but he comes home to die. Jon is called back home because his grandpa is dying. It’s been years since Jon has been back to Hayden, Idaho. He sees his grandpa one last time, and miraculously, Grandpa Jim briefly becomes conscious and tells Jon some information regarding the lost gold mine. He imparts cryptic messages, such as “The lamp lights your way, and the lantern guides you out.”

Jim passes away. Jon meets up with his old high school buddy, Shim, while out drinking one night at home. They get to talking about old times and the gold mine. Shim is a colorful character who has some great lines.

Then Jon must return to his unhappy life. He is clearly done with his job. The reader wants just as much as Jon to be out of his company, a place full of uncompassionate people who are only driven by greed. While the corruption of a large company like this is believable, I am not sure everyone would be such a jerk as they are shown. Only one coworker seems to care that Jon lost his grandfather. This doesn’t match up with my life experience.

Jon finally decides to leave his job and his girlfriend and take up the torch from his grandpa. He wants to find the lost gold mine. He returns to Hayden and immediately asks his uncle Roger and his friend Shim to help him. They begin gathering a group of people to help, those who have skills necessary to navigate through the harsh wilderness. The group grows in size and meets to discuss what is already known about the mines and what their plans are.

The novel becomes several chapters of the characters sitting around talking about the above. There is very little action. Several characters seems to serve no purpose other than being source of information, so their lengthy paragraphs of dialogue come across as information dumps. People don’t talk like this. If you have a group of seven people sitting around, there is going to be much more exchange in the talking, especially when discussing something as dangerous as cursed mines that are surrounded by all sorts of lore, from ghosts, to landforms that change, to extraterrestrials, to the gate to hell, to wild Indians killing people, to people disappearing when they go looking for the mines, etc.

The idea behind the mines is certainly full of merit. It could make for a high-action, high-suspense, high-mystery, high-thriller tale, if only the characters would actually get off their behinds and get out there and actually search for the gold mines! We have to wait through 75 percent of the book to finally get to the point of action!

I also like the idea of Jon having a sudden awakening in the middle of his life and realizing he’s been wasting his time doing unfulfilling things, and it taking the death of a loved one to finally snap him into action to make something out of his life. But the ideas alone are not enough. The story lacks a lot of momentum.

There is far too much telling going on, too little action. I would like to see more showing and action. I thought I was going to be reading about a dangerous, life-threatening expedition to find this gold mine, and instead, I feel I have been sitting in a room, growing bored as I listen to a bunch of guys talk and talk and talk. And why is the group just guys? Where is a woman in the crowd?

There are some saving moments of dialogue, especially between Hurk and Travis, two of the guys recruited to go on the trip. But again, it’s just not enough to drive the story forward.

There are also many punctuational errors and spelling errors littered throughout the book. I am not sure if this story went through an editor, but it doesn’t appear to have done so.

I wanted to enjoy this story more, but unfortunately, it just didn’t keep my interest.

2 of out 5 stars

Favorite quote: “The lamp lights your way, and the lantern guides you out.”

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